COMRADES 
IN.  COURAGE 


ANTOINE     REDIER 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 


COMRADES  IN 
COURAGE 


/Meditations  Dans\ 
\     La  Tranche*     ) 


BY 

LIEUTENANT  ANTOINE  REDIER 

TRANSLATED  BY 
MRS.  PHILIP  DUNCAN  WILSON 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  W  COMPANY 
1918 


Copyright,  1918,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


TO 

MY  SONS 

SO  THAT  WHEN  THEY  ARE  GROWN 
THEY  MAY  BE 

HONOURABLE  MEN 
STRONG,  FREE,  AND  BRAVE 

A.  R. 


2132539 


TABLE  OF  CHAPTERS 

PAGE 

I.  DUTY 3 

II.  THE  EXCAVATORS  ....  28 

III.  LIBERTY 57 

IV.  COMRADES  IN  ARMS     ...  67 
V.  GLORY 84 

VI.  LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE     .     .  96 

VII.  STRENGTH 127 

VIII.  "THE  GOD  OF  THE  ARMIES"  .  138 

IX.  BRAVERY 159 

X.  THE  ENEMY 169 

XI.  INTELLIGENCE 198 

XII.  LETTERS 212 

XIII.  HONOUR 228 

XIV.  THE  MOTHERLAND      .     .     .  239 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 


COMRADES    IN   COURAGE 

I 

T)uty 

NEVER  in  all  my  life  have  I  heard 
so  many  foolish  words,  nor  myself 
said  so  many  useless  things,  as  I 
have  since  my  sojourn  in  the  trenches.  The 
great  danger  in  which  we  live  forces  us  to 
seek  distraction  and  we  are  always  striving 
for  entertainment.  At  times  my  brain 
reels  from  giddiness,  I  take  my  head  be- 
tween my  hands  and  anxiously  ask  myself: 
"What  am  I  doing  here  for  the  profit  of  my 
soul?" 

I  am  serving  my  country,  it  is  true.  I 
am  occupying  my  appointed  place.  If  I 
should  be  killed  I  shall  have  done  my  whole 
duty.  But  how  if  I  survive  ?  Shall  I  have 
passed  through  these  solemn  moments  of 
world  history  without  improvement  to 
myself?  We  are  the  witnesses  and  the 
actors  in  one  of  the  great  dramas  of  hu- 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

manity.  In  later  years  many  will  envy  us, 
and  perhaps  our  children  will  think  of  us 
as  Titans.  Yet  thoughtlessly  we  tramp 
these  fields  of  carnage  which  later  will  be- 
come the  goal  of  pious  pilgrimages.  We 
are  like  our  little  neighbours,  the  larks, 
that  continue  their  joyous  songs  without 
regard  for  the  war.  Our  sole  concession 
to  the  moment  is  that  occasionally  we  lower 
our  voices  if  the  ene'my,  who  watches  oppo- 
site, be  near  enough  to  hear. 

Some  people  will  say  that  this  light- 
heartedness  in  the  face  of  danger  is  a  sign  of 
heroism.  This  is  not  true.  We  are  able  to 
distract  ourselves.  We  could  not  endure 
our  existence  if  we  lacked  this  precious  gift 
of  forgetting.  But  if  we  have  learned  to 
shut  our  eyes  at  certain  times,  there  are 
other  times  when  it  is  necessary  to  look 
with  all  our  power.  When  the  war  emerges 
from  its  present  stagnation  of  trench  life, 
we  will  joyfully  look  ahead  of  us.  To-day 
our  bodies  are  fast  stuck  in  the  mud,  and, 
unless  we  take  care,  our  souls  will  fall 
asleep. 

To-night  I  have  tried  to  stimulate  mine  a 
little  by  meditation.  I  meditated  upon 
death,  and  then  upon  duty.  I  could  easily 


DUTY 

have  considered  glory,  but  in  the  face  of 
facts  it  would  have  seemed  like  seducing 
myself  with  bright  words.  Out  here  we 
are  exposed  every  moment  to  the  possi- 
bility of  a  glorious  death,  but  nevertheless 
it  is  death;  and  if,  after  the  war,  there  re- 
mains an  imprint  upon  my  being,  it  will  be 
chiefly  this  tragic  menace  which  will  have 
put  it  there. 

What  does  it  mean  to  die  on  the  field  of 
honour?  Yesterday  a  poor  fellow  whom  I 
myself  had  seen  wounded,  gave  up  his  soul 
at  the  field  hospital.  The  day  before,  while 
his  wound  was  being  dressed,  he  was  asked 
by  the  doctor  how  he  felt.  He  replied, 
with  his  Flemish  accent:  "Min  vinte" 
(mon  ventre,  my  stomach),  "my  lieutenant." 
"What's  the  matter  with  your  stomach?" 
"  I  have  a  pain  in  my  stomach." 
His  plaintive  voice,  his  childish  accent 
will  dwell  long  in  my  memory.  How  sad 
it  was  that  he  should  die,  a  man  of  nearly 
forty  and  the  father  of  a  family.  His  people 
live  in  the  invaded  provinces  and  cannot 
learn  of  their  loss  until  we  have  the  requi- 
site means  and  time  for  communicating 
with  them.  As  he  lay  dying  he  did  not 
think  of  himself  as  a  hero,  but  as  a  poor 


devil.  He  did  not  go  to  war  for  the  sake  of 
glory.  He  was  merely  a  unit  in  the  mass, 
and  had  scarcely  seen  the  enemy  with  his 
own  eyes,  yet  he  lived  for  months  pas- 
sively awaiting  an  obscure  end.  His  her- 
oism consisted  in  accepting  his  destiny  with 
resignation. 

We  are  all  like  this  man.  Death  upon 
the  field  of  battle  is  always  a  horrible  ad- 
venture. Those  of  us  who  have  been  in 
the  campaign  since  the  beginning  have 
seen  it  too  often  close  at  hand  to  seek  it 
carelessly  with  the  joyful  light-heartedness 
of  that  first  month  of  August.  There  are 
too  many  bodies  heaped  on  the  ground  be- 
fore our  trenches.  We  know  of  too  many 
wrecked  and  ruined  homes.  We  have  lost 
too  many  good  comrades  who  still  lack  a 
grave — and  always  will. 

We  are  told  that  the  Japanese  and  Ser- 
bians disdain  death.  I  cannot  understand 
their  mental  processes.  We  are  made  in  a 
different  manner,  perhaps  because  our  mode 
of  life  is  too  easy.  Personally,  I  am  unable 
to  conceive  that  one  goes  to  martyrdom 
willingly.  Indeed  even  the  greatest  mar- 
tyrs have  not  succeeded  in  concealing  their 
suffering  and  were  not  ashamed  to  call 


DUTY 

heaven  to  help  them  in  their  weakness. 
Yet  no  one  doubts  that  the  quality  of  their 
hearts  was  superior  to  that  of  most  of  ours. 
The  radiant  compensation  which  God  offers 
a  believer  is  not  the  same  that  our  country 
holds  forth  to  a  soldier  who  makes  the  su- 
preme sacrifice  for  her.  The  shirkers  seek 
employment  at  the  rear  or  attempt  to  con- 
ceal themselves  in  the  military  depots  and 
they  are  constantly  haunted  by  the  fear 
of  the  pitiless  death  which  awaits  them  on 
the  battlefield.  On  the  other  hand,  those 
who  have  gone  to  the  front  voluntarily, 
or  because  it  was  their  turn,  cover  their 
eyes,  and  their  flesh  creeps  when  they  re- 
alize the  cruel  end  before  them,  but  like 
heroes  they  go  forward  unfalteringly. 

Is  it  glory  that  they  seek?  I  do  not  be- 
lieve so.  Yet  I  am  acquainted  with  one 
exception.  The  other  day  I  saw  him  when 
he  paid  a  visit  to  some  comrades.  We 
were  gathered  in  a  little  dug-out  and  were 
delighted  to  see  one  another.  After  con- 
versing and  joking  a  bit  we  began  to  sing — 
first  some  very  French  songs,  and  then 
someone  hummed  "Die  Wacht  am  Rhein." 
We  were  startled.  We  hear  them  sing  it 
opposite  in  the  German  trenches  every 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

evening.  Certainly  the  refrain  is  grave 
and  melodious,  but  how  sad.  How  widely 
our  race — so  alert  and  frank — is  separated 
from  theirs,  which  dreams  and  laments. 

Finally  came  the  turn  of  my  young  friend 
to  sing.  He  hesitated,  embarrassed,  and 
in  spite  of  his  splendid  soldierly  figure, 
blushed  through  his  tan.  The  grandson, 
son,  nephew,  and  god-son  of  celebrated 
French  soldiers  and  sailors,  the  declaration 
of  war  had  found  him  at  Saint-Cyr.  He 
had  chosen  the  cavalry  as  his  branch,  but, 
after  the  first  few  battles,  he  saw  that  in  this 
war  the  cavalry  would  remain  at  the  rear, 
at  least  for  some  time.  He  therefore  asked 
and  obtained  consent  to  leave  his  chosen 
branch,  and  joined  the  infantry.  It  is  in  this 
miserable  hole  that  he  awaits  the  moment 
of  his  sacrifice. 

I  do  not  know  who  is  the  author  of  the 
following  sonnet,  but  it  is  known  with- 
out exception  to  all  the  students  of  Saint- 
Cyr.  We  were  deeply  moved  by  hear- 
ing this  handsome  son  of  France  sing  it  so 
fervently.  His  eyes  were  dilated  and  he 
did  not  appear  the  same  warrior  as  the 
others,  but  a  young  god  transfigured  by  a 
celestial  vision. 


DUTY 


LA  GLOIRE 

Voulant  voir  si  1'ecole  etait  bien  digne  d'elle, 

La  Gloire,  un  jour,  du  ciel  descendit  a  Saint-Cyr. 
On  1'y  connaissait  bien !     Ce  fut  avec  plaisir 

Que  les  Saint-Cyriens  recurent  1'Immortelle. 


Elle  les  trouva  forts.     Us  la  trouverent  belle. 
Apres  un  jour  de  fete,  avant  de  repartir, 
La  Gloire,  a  tous  voulant  laisser  un  souvenir, 


Fixa  sur  leur  schako  des  plumes  de  son  aile. 
Et  Ton  porta  longtemps  le  plumet  radieux. 
Mais  un  soir  de  combat,  pres  de  fermer  les  yeux, 
Un  Saint-Cyrien,  mourant,  le  mit  sur  sa  blessure 

Pour  lui  donner  aussi  le  bapteme  du  sang. 
Et,  depuis,  nous  portons — admirable  parure — 
Sur  notre  schako  bleu,  le  plumet  rouge  et  blanc. 


Any  man  who  can  sing  thus  is  not  dis- 
turbed by  thoughts  of  death.  He  loves 
glory  for  itself  and  he  has  deliberately 
dedicated  his  life  to  it.  It  is  of  no  impor- 
tance to  him  that  the  sacrifice  the  Mother- 
land demands  of  her  sons  is  a  merciless  one. 
He  has  reached  the  age  when  one  begins  to 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

ponder  on  human  destiny  and  meets  it 
in  a  defiant  attitude,  be  it  good  or  bad. 
He  is  able  to  sacrifice  his  life  freely  because 
he  has  not  yet  contracted  life's  responsi- 
bilities. 

The  blood  which  I  find  on  my  hands 
when  I  help  raise  the  wounded,  or  aid  the 
dying,  is  to  me  cruel  and  ghastly.  To  him 
it  is  the  vermilion  blood  of  heroes  of  which 
the  poets  sing.  He  bathes  a  plume  in  it  and 
with  exaltation  wears  it  on  his  helmet  as  a 
token.  Unlike  him  I  cannot  love  glory  for 
itself.  My  business  here  is  the  glory  of 
France.  I  work  for  it  with  all  my  strength 
but  I  do  not  seek  it  for  myself.  My  aim 
in  the  war  is  to  do  my  duty.  Save  for  rare 
exceptions  we  do  not  go  valiantly  to  death 
either  because  we  disdain  it,  or  for  the  laurels 
that  will  be  thrown  on  our  tombs.  We  go 
in  the  spirit  of  discipline,  because  it  is  our 
duty.  The  first  fruit  of  this  slaughter  has 
been  to  give  us  the  long-forgotten  knowledge 
of — and  desire  to  do — our  duty.  The  great 
miracle  has  happened  which  we  so  anxiously 
awaited  during  the  uneasy  years  that  pre- 
ceded the  war. 

The  other  day  as  we  lounged  in  our  cave, 
we  were  aroused  by  the  brusque  entrance 

10 


DUTY 

of  an  adjudant*  who  pushed  before  him  two 
soldiers,  one  of  whom  was  wiping  his  bleed- 
ing face  with  a  handkerchief. 

"Wounded?" 

"Nothing  like  it,  Captain.  They  were 
fighting  and  I  brought  them  to  the  post  to 
explain." 

The  man  with  the  bleeding  face  is  what  is 
known  as  a  village  lawyer.  It  seems  that 
he  had  said  that  the  " Boches"  were  as  good 
as  the  French — at  which  the  other  had  at- 
tacked him.  The  assailant  stands  motion- 
less. He  is  penitent,  but  his  fist  was  well 
aimed  and  he  is  proud  that  the  blow  does 
credit  to  his  strength.  He  feels  vaguely 
that,  in  the  war,  strength  is  of  great  value. 
He  admits  his  crime  and  only  says  in  excuse : 

"He  is  always  bothering  us  with  his 
theories.  I  wanted  to  give  him  a  lesson 
and  didn't  think  that  a  single  punch  would 
hurt  him." 

"  Did  you  intend  to  give  him  several  ? " 
I  only  intended  to  make  him  shut  up, 


sir." 


At  this  the  other  man  takes  a  step  for- 
ward : 

*  The  French  "adjudant"  corresponds  to  a  first  sergeant  in  the 
American  Army. 


II 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

"I'd  like  to  see  you  make  me  shut  up!" 

He  is  a  queer  figure  of  a  man.  His  face 
is  thin  and  already  shows  the  traces  of  age. 
His  figure  is  frail  and  bowed,  his  manner 
abject  but  cunning,  and  he  talks  in  a  preten- 
tious tone  with  many  gestures: 

"A  man  ought  to  have  rights,  even  here." 

"You  have  the  right  to  kill  a  Boche,  old 
grandmother!" 

"Be  silent;  you  struck  him.  Let  him 
speak." 

"My  Captain,"  begins  the  other,  "if  you 
let  these  young  fellows  act  like  this,  it  means 
a  revolution  in  the  trenches.  At  least,  I  can 
understand  that  we  ought  not  to  quarrel 
because,  after  all,  we  are  here  only  to  share 
the  same  miserable  fate." 

"We  are  here  for  France,"  the  adjudant 
cries  at  him,  rolling  his  eyes  in  a  terrible 


manner. 
it 


Come,"  says  the  Captain,  wishing  to 
close  the  incident,  "shake  hands  and  go 
back  to  your  places." 

As  the  men  go  out  I  turn  curiously  toward 

the  adjudant  who  will  not  permit  anybody 

to  say  that  his  lot  here  is  a  miserable  one. 

"You  have  been  hard  on  the  old  man." 

"It  is  his  own  fault  if  I  have.     I  know 


12 


DUTY 

these  lawyers,  they  are  always  thinking  of 
their  rights,  never  of  their  duties." 

He  goes  on  with  his  theme,  enlarging  the 
scope  of  his  discussion.  He  paints  for  us  in 
bold  but  truthful  colours  a  picture  of  average 
French  society  in  the  villages  and  country- 
side before  the  war.  Although,  in  peace 
time,  a  man  of  humble  situation,  a  modest 
shopkeeper  on  the  public  square  of  a  small 
county-seat,  his  observation  and  judgment 
are  excellent.  His  type  demonstrates  how 
well  true  wisdom  will  always  be  preserved 
among  the  common  people.  After  escaping 
the  snares  of  life,  morality  to  them  is  repre- 
sented by  what  they  remember  of  their 
early  religious  instruction. 

He  goes  on  to  tell  how  these  heroes,  who 
to-day  are  ready  to  die  with  a  firm  heart, 
faced  duty  as  civilians  in  time  of  peace. 
His  exact  words  are  not  necessary;  his 
meaning  will  suffice. 

First  he  tells  us  the  programme  for  an 
honest  man  of  the  working  class  in  the  cities : 
Know  your  craft  well  enough  to  do  it  with 
pleasure;  have  simple  tastes  that  you  may 
be  able  to  satisfy  them  fully;  raise  good 
children  in  the  affection  of  whom  you  may 
find  a  refuge  in  the  great  hours  of  life. 

13 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

Our  citizens,  however,  have  substituted 
what  they  consider  a  better  programme: 
Work  as  little  as  possible  because  it  is 
fatiguing;  on  the  other  hand,  demand  as  high 
wages  as  possible  because  it  is  good  to  feel 
the  coins  jingling  in  one's  pocket.  Spend 
your  money  upon  yourself  alone  and,  for 
that  reason,  have  no  children.  Insist  upon 
your  right  to  live  your  own  life,  to  seek 
pleasure  always,  to  loaf  and  to  spoil  every- 
thing, including  your  work,  yourself,  your 
family,  and  your  country.  As  for  duty, 
don't  consider  it ! 

Second,  the  country  people:  they  are  still 
economical  and  hard  working  like  their 
fathers,  but  with  a  greed  which  in  them  takes 
the  place  of  every  virtue.  Unlike  true  sons 
of  the  soil  they  are  incapable  of  working 
for  the  sake  of  posterity  and,  for  example, 
never  plant  trees  because  the  profit  to  be 
derived  from  them  is  too  distant.  On  the 
contrary,  they  cut  down  those  planted  by 
their  ancestors  in  order  that  their  children 
may  have  money  to  spend  in  the  city.  They 
have  neither  religious  faith  nor  respect 
for  womanhood.  They  never  sit  down  for 
a  moment  of  quiet  rest  at  home.  They  are 
simply  beasts  of  burden,  and  if  you  talk 


DUTY 

of  duty,  these  born  slaves  who  voluntarily 
accept  the  vilest  servitude,  will  laugh  sar- 
castically and  tell  you  that  they  are  free 
men  and  do  not  want  to  be  bound  by  moral 
laws. 

Of  the  upper  classes,  represented  to  him 
by  his  officers,  our  critic  says  nothing,  but 
it  is  easy  for  me  to  continue  his  thought. 
Aristocrats,  bourgeois,  people  of  position, 
all  those  that  we  arbitrarily  call  the  govern- 
ing class,  what  is  their  real  value?  The 
majority  of  the  men  are  pleasure-seekers, 
elbowing  themselves  forward  in  search  of 
some  slight  advantage,  and  the  women 
merely  dolls.  The  former  gain  wealth,  it 
does  not  matter  how,  and  their  compan- 
ions dissipate  it  in  thin  air.  When  it 
becomes  a  question  of  public  good,  toward 
which  they  should  have  the  most  sacred 
ideas  of  duty  since  it  concerns  everybody, 
one  finds  these  people  either  utterly  in- 
different or  calculating.  It  is  proverbial 
that  the  masses  never  elevate  the  wisest  to 
power.  With  us  at  times  it  seems  as  if  they 
actually  chose  the  least  worthy  in  order 
to  prevent  domination.  To  be  sure  one 
gets  a  servant  of  the  people  in  this  fashion, 
but  it  is  our  country  that  pays. 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

Come,  join  me  in  the  trenches  and  then 
look  at  these  workmen,  these  country 
people,  these  middle-  and  upper-class  men. 
There  they  stand  in  front  of  us,  gun  in 
hand,  half  buried  in  the  mud.  This  time 
they  are  doing  their  duty,  and  all  of  them 
at  the  same  time.  What  are  they  thinking 
about?  The  war  has  changed  them  pro- 
foundly. It  has  made  good  soldiers  of  them 
as  well  as  good  men.  Will  the  miracle  last 
forever? 

The  adjudant  says  yes.  I  do  not  agree. 
I  do  not  think  that  we  shall  necessarily  be 
better  when  we  return  to  our  homes,  but  I 
think  we  shall  be  in  a  condition  to  become 
better,  that  is  the  important  thing.  Force 
has  restored  to  us  the  right  notion  of  duty. 
It  has  not  yet  definitely  established  us  in  the 
habit  of  well  doing,  but  it  will  make  us  apt 
to  follow  if  we  are  shown  new  ways.  The 
eternal  truths  will  be  explained  by  new 
masters.  Prophets  will  raise  themselves 
against  the  preachers  of  revolution  and  the 
doctrines  of  the  sovereign  rights  of  the 
individual,  and  this  time  their  voices  will 
be  heard.  These  intellectual  leaders  of  a 
wiser  France  exist  at  present,  but  they  are 
almost  alone  in  the  desert.  The  war  will 

16 


DUTY 

have  increased  the  courage  and  power  of 
those  who  survive.  My  vision  pierces  the 
walls  of  this  trench  shelter  in  which  I  sit, 
and  I  perceive  in  the  distance  the  era  that  is 
coming,  when  they  will  find  willing  listeners, 
not  only  among  the  intellectual  elite — a 
majority  of  whom  has  already  been  with 
them  for  a  long  time — but  even  in  the 
hearts  of  our  most  distant  villagers. 

It  is  the  same  with  people  as  with  chil- 
dren. It  does  not  suffice  to  show  them  the 
right  path,  it  is  necessary  actually  to  lead 
them  by  the  hand.  Precepts  without  the 
proof  of  experience  are  vain.  After  the 
harsh  trials  of  this  war  the  lessons  of  the 
wise  will  be  understood.  We  shall  have 
weighed  in  particular  the  worth  of  two 
words,  until  now  very  unjustly  valued. 
Formerly  we  wrote  the  word  "Duty"  with 
a  capital,  but  contented  ourselves  with  its 
abstract  contemplation.  On  the  other  hand, 
we  claimed  an  enormous  number  of  rights. 
The  war  has  taught  us  to  reverse  these 
words.  I  recognize  in  "Right"  our  safe- 
guard against  all,  but  I  see  before  me  each 
day — each  hour — an  enormous  number  of 
duties. 

Right  and  duty,  if  we  are  able  to  neglect 

17 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

reality  itself — that  is  to  say  human  frailties 
and  weaknesses — would  be  deserving  of 
equal  honour,  for  they  correspond  and 
link  together  naturally.  But  in  fact  the 
word  "right"  is  a  dangerous  word,  full  of 
temptation  and  injustice  when  put  in  the 
mouths  of  the  masses.  Here  among  us  it 
has  been  put  to  flight  by  the  whistle  of  the 
shells. 

Indeed  there  is  no  doctrine  of  social 
revolution,no  fomenter  of  disorder  and  trou- 
ble, which  does  not  find  contradiction  each 
day  in  our  trenches.  For  example :  equality, 
that  renowned  right  of  each  to  be  equal  to 
everyone  else,  the  attainment  of  which  is 
often  accomplished  only  by  envy,  hatred, 
and  destruction  of  everything.  Here  in  the 
field,  concerning  equality  we  only  know  our 
common  wretchedness  in  meeting  death, 
which  unceasingly  strikes  without  regard  to 
rank  or  worth.  If  you  are  jealous  of  your 
fellowmen,  if  you  desire  to  be  treated 
equally  with  them,  come  up  here  to  this 
"fire-trench"  where  injustice  is  unknown, 
where  no  one  is  too  proud  to  seek  protection 
when  he  hears  the  whistle  of  an  approaching 
shell,  where  the  most  that  anyone  can  offer 
is  a  few  inches  of  mortal  flesh  to  the  German 

19 


DUTY 

lead.  Equality  under  fire?  Surely;  but 
for  the  rest,  each  man  has  a  different  rank, 
according  to  his  merit.  It  is  necessary 
to  send  out  a  party  for  patrol  to-night. 
Who  will  volunteer?  Ten  men  step  for- 
ward. From  that  moment  these  men  are 
the  acknowledged  superiors  of  the  others 
in  the  ranks.  Inequality,  Respect;  two 
new  ideas  to  our  people,  but  we  will  accus- 
tom ourselves  to  them. 

In  civil  life  one  may  obtain  almost  every 
privilege  by  the  power  of  money.  Here 
at  the  front  money  is  of  no  value.  The 
prestige  of  glory  has  replaced  that  of  gold. 
Admiration  of  others,  which  elevates  the 
soul,  has  been  substituted  for  envy  which 
degrades  it.  The  divine  joys  and  honours 
to  be  gained  from  the  war  are  proportionate 
to  the  degree  of  individual  valour,  intelli- 
gence, physical  strength,  devotion,  and  hero- 
ism. According  to  your  merit  you  will 
win  these  rewards  amidst  the  ungrudging 
applause  of  your  comrades.  The  same  men 
who,  in  the  democracy  of  peace,  were  at  one 
another's  throats,  here  become  comrades 
in  the  fray.  Loyalty,  good  humour,  and 
confidence  have  been  reestablished  by  the 
brotherhood  of  arms.  Laughter,  that  splen- 

19 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

did  sign  of  physical  and  moral  health,  reigns 
supreme  amidst  all  the  degrees  of  the  regi- 
mental hierarchy.  Hatred  subsides,  and 
even  religion  receives  the  homage  that  is  its 
due. 

It  is  as  if  a  magic  wand  had  been  used 
to  set  everything  right.  Formerly  we  were 
surfeited  with  sensations,  and  our  chief 
forces  were  expended  in  the  pursuit  of 
pleasure.  Now  the  best  part  of  our  time 
is  spent  in  digging  ditches,  no  matter 
whether  it  rain  or  shine,  and  the  sole  privi- 
lege accorded  us  is  that  we  may  choose  either 
a  pick  which  loosens  the  earth,  or  a  shovel 
which  throws  it  aside.  Previously  we  needed 
a  thousand  comforts,  yet  now,  for  so  many 
months  that  we  can  hardly  remember  the 
number,  we  have  slept  with  the  mice,  either 
upon  bare  ground  or  straw.  Best  of  all, 
we  do  it  with  a  song  upon  our  lips,  and 
when  the  hour  comes  for  repose  we  enjoy 
triumphant  slumbers. 

In  reviving  national  hatred,  the  enemy 
has  united  both  our  living  and  our  dead. 
Tradition,  which  formerly  was  ridiculed, 
has  taken  for  us  a  new  grandeur  and  beauty. 
Republican  ministers,  who  formerly  re- 
membered the  history  of  France  no  further 

20 


DUTY 

back  than  1793,  since  the  war,  have  re- 
peatedly and  solemnly  inspired  their  lis- 
teners by  calling  upon  such  monarchical 
names  as  Saint-Louis,  Du  Guesclin,  and 
Jeanne  d'Arc.  We  used  to  mock  at  au- 
thority, order  and  discipline,  but  since  the 
outbreak  of  the  war  we  have  seen  that 
Germany,  with  the  aid  of  these  same  in- 
struments, almost  succeeded  in  defeating  us. 
Now  we  have  the  satisfaction  that  comes 
from  doing  our  duty.  The  duty  is  an  evi- 
dent one  and  we  enjoy  the  sensation  of  see- 
ing our  way  clearly.  In  fulfilling  our 
glorious  mission  we  find  such  joys  that  we 
wish  to  publish  them  to  the  winds. 

What  shall  we  say  when  we  return  to  our 
homes  after  the  war?  Some  will  be  dis- 
agreeable boasters.  Others  will  be  more 
modest,  but  nevertheless  will  desire  that 
the  trials  they  have  borne  so  valiantly 
be  appreciated  at  their  true  value  and  that 
no  one  dispute  the  character  and  the 
beauty  of  their  sacrifice.  Inculcated  with 
the  supreme  value  of  devotion  to  their 
country,  they  will  insist  that  those  about 
them  profess  the  same  cult.  They  will 
demand  praise,  not  for  themselves,  but 
for  the  virtues  they  have  practised,  and 

21 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

this  will  make  two  or  three  million  in- 
structors in  duty  in  our  towns  and  villages. 

So  all  of  us  who  daily  look  upon  the  face 
of  Death  and  school  ourselves  to  regard  its 
redoubtable  figure  unwinkingly;  all  of  us 
who  survive,  will  return  from  the  field  of 
honour  with  the  habitude  and  pride  of 
service. 

Assuredly  duties  will  not  be  so  simple  in 
time  of  peace  as  in  time  of  war.  We  shall 
often  find  them  even  more  difficult  on  ac- 
count of  their  obscurity.  We  shall  be  assisted 
at  that  time  by  the  wonderful  recollections 
of  our  days  of  glory.  One  does  not  always 
adopt  heroism  with  good  grace,  for  it  implies 
not  only  a  passive  readiness  to  accept  death, 
to  remain  day  and  night  for  months  under 
its  constant  menace,  but  also  the  active  seek- 
ing of  it  in  moments  of  dreadful  violence, 
approaching  it  with  a  song  on  the  lips,  and 
hailing  its  coming  with  exaltation — not  for 
the  sake  of  glory  but  because  it  is  what  one 
ought  to  do.  After  all,  it  does  not  matter 
how  much  of  resignation  enters  into  the 
spirit  of  willingness  in  which  one  makes  the 
sacrifice. 

I  remember  in  the  month  of  September, 
shortly  after  the  Battle  of  the  Marne,  a 

22 


DUTY 

general  came  to  inspect  the  regimental 
depot  of  the  territorial  army  in  the  region 
where  I  was  stationed.  His  mission  was 
particularly  to  examine  the  officers  and  to 
obtain  an  estimate  of  their  spirit.  He  had 
left  the  battlefield  where  he  had  just  re- 
ceived his  promotion  to  his  present  rank 
only  a  few  hours  earlier.  The  fumes  of 
powder  still  lingered  about  him.  He 
walked  down  the  line  of  non-commissioned 
officers  on  parade  in  the  courtyard  and  to 
each  put  this  question: 

"  Do  you  request  to  be  sent  to  the  front  ?" 

"  I  am  ready  to  go  when  my  turn  comes, 
sir,"  these  warriors  invariably  replied. 

"Bah!"  said  the  great  chief,  "you  speak 
like  cowards." 

This  remark  roused  great  feeling  among 
those  poor  devils.  They  had  not  compre- 
hended the  correct  sense  of  duty  in  the 
opportunity  that  was  offered  them  of  con- 
tributing in  a  more  active  manner  to  the 
national  safety.  The  right  to  await  their 
turn,  that  was  their  idea.  Little  by  little 
these  same  men  have  left  their  "depot," 
are  serving  to-day  in  the  trenches,  and  con- 
ducting themselves  well.  Many  times  they 
have  gaily  endured  nameless  suffering. 

23 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

They  go  where  they  are  told,  and  reflect  no 
farther.  It  is  not  absolutely  necessary  that 
the  law  be  understood  so  long  as  it  is  recog- 
nized and  obeyed.  They  are  the  mass  and 
follow  their  leaders. 

Among  these  leaders  I  find  two  types: 
First,  the  fiery  soldier  who  is  actuated  by 
his  love  for  France.  He  has  an  understand- 
ing of  the  different  degrees  of  obligation  and, 
no  matter  how  tenderly  he  cherishes  his 
home,  his  country  comes  first.  A  certain 
group  of  characteristics  is  common  to  each 
member  of  this  class.  A  man  of  this  type 
always  serves  the  public  interest  before  his 
own,  even  when,  unlike  the  present  time,  the 
duty  is  not  such  an  important  one.  With 
such  a  mentality,  a  man  is  always  a  fer- 
vent student  of  history  and  politics.  He 
knows  the  past  of  his  country  and  reveres 
all  its  glories.  He  seriously  considers  its 
present  destiny  and  the  men  who  are  its 
guardians.  When  war  comes  it  is  a  personal 
affair.  I  love  this  type,  which  is  common 
enough,  and  it  is  toward  it  that  by  nature 
I  most  readily  incline.  I  do  not  feel  that  I 
deserve  great  merit  in  doing  my  duty  as  a 
soldier,  but  if  it  were  not  for  that  wonderful 
vision  of  France  which  sustains  and  ani- 

24 


DUTY 

mates  me,  I  think  I  should  be  greatly  de- 
serving of  it.  When  I  hear  people  say  that 
our  frontier  will  be  extended  to  the  Rhine, 
I  am  filled  with  a  profound  joy  as  if  those 
lost  provinces  were  to  be  returned  to  me  in 
person.  Inspired  by  such  thoughts  it  is  not 
difficult  to  give  my  soul  to  my  country, 
and  when  it  shall  be  necessary  I  will  also 
give  my  body. 

I  do  not  know  whether  the  second  type 
is  more  rare ;  at  any  rate,  I  find  it  infinitely 
attractive.  Among  my  companions  there 
is  one  who  personifies  it  in  a  charming 
manner.  You  may  see  him  sauntering 
along  the  trench  in  his  heavy  boots,  a  tall 
youth  with  his  coat  hanging  open  and  an 
old  military  cap  perched  upon  a  thick  shock 
of  flaxen  hair.  With  his  abrupt  gestures 
and  boisterous  manner  you  would  think  him 
too  bad  a  character  ever  to  have  become 
even  a  corporal.  He  meets  some  of  the 
men;  I  cant  hear  what  he  says  to  them, 
but  they  leave  him  with  a  hearty  burst  of 
laughter.  One  of  them  shouts : 

"My  Lieutenant,  you  always  make  us 
laugh/' 

Yes,  he  is  a  lieutenant,  this  soldier  so 
young,  so  thin,  so  merry.  He  has  even 

25 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

commanded  his  company  since  that  sad 
day  in  September,  1914,  when  his  captain 
was  killed.  His  face  is  pleasingly  frank 
and  with  a  nose  as  big  as  was  that  of  Henry 
IV,  and  there  is  a  fine  down  straggling  upon 
his  lip.  He  blushes  like  a  girl,  in  spite  of  a 
fiery  voice.  His  angers  are  short-lived; 
he  gesticulates,  and  his  laugh  is  never- 
ceasing.  He  is  attending  to  his  country's 
business  here  with  all  his  heart,  but  his 
eyes  are  not  dazzled  like  mine  by  the  capti- 
vating image  of  France.  He  sees  another 
more  austere  to  whose  cult  he  devotes  his 
fervour;  that  of  duty.  When  he  left  his 
mother  in  tears  he  did  not  argue  about  the 
origin  and  the  consequences  of  the  war, 
nor  was  he  consoled  by  the  thought  of  a 
triumphant  revenge;  an  honest  man  in  all 
the  acts  of  his  life,  he  was  that  day  honest  as 
usual.  The  law  commanded  him  to  be  a 
soldier;  he  obeyed  and  went.  The  sacrifice 
was  hard,  consequently  of  rare  value. 
Shame  to  the  coward  who  would  attempt 
to  depreciate  it. 

The  men  who  have  come  among  us,  more 
or  less  willingly,  in  the  end  become  accus- 
tomed to  think  like  their  chiefs.  According 
to  his  character,  each  man  chooses  one  or 

26 


DUTY 

the  other  type  as  his  model.  They  are 
benefited,  so  are  we,  and  all  is  well. 

Before  the  month  of  August  1914  I  often 
asked  myself  whether  we  should  ever  ex- 
perience these  noble  joys  which  are  so 
necessary  to  stimulate  mankind.  The  war 
has  brought  them  all  to  us. 

Behold !  I  am  able  to  return  to  the  ban- 
alities of  the  present  which,  as  I  began  this 
train  of  thought,  made  me  feel  that  I  was 
witness  to  a  sacrilege.  I  can  remain  care- 
free even  while  watching  the  enemy.  I  am 
improving  without  knowing  it  and  the 
brave  men  around  me  are  doing  the 
same.  However,  should  Glory,  of  whom  I 
ask  nothing  personally,  come  some  evening 
of  battle  to  crown  one  of  us  with  her  light,  I 
shall  bless  the  beautiful  visitor  and  ask 
her  to  pardon  me  because  to-night  in  my 
trench  I  have  preferred,  to  her  radiant  face, 
one  graver  and  less  accustomed  to  the  smiles 
of  men :  that  of  duty. 


27 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 


II 

'The  Cxcavators 

COME,  Monsieur  le  territorial,  we 
must  hurry!" 
It  is  night,  the  rain  is  falling. 
The  commandant  brandishes  his  stick  and 
with  it  taps  the  shoulder  of  a  large  man  who 
hesitates  in  front  of  a  ditch.  At  this  stimu- 
lus the  soldier  jumps  across  and  tumbles 
on  the  other  side,  face  forward  in  the  mud. 
Awkwardly  he  picks  up  his  shovel,  his 
woollen  muffler,  and  his  blanket.  He  strug- 
gles to  his  feet,  takes  a  step,  and  is  at  once 
lost  to  sight  in  the  darkness.  Another  fol- 
lows and  takes  the  same  formidable  jump. 

For  a  lone  time  I  have  been  watching 
them  from  the  bottom  of  the  boyau  which 
they  are  crossing.  They  are  a  company 
of  territorials  from  the  south  of  France, 
the  "Midi."  To-night  they  are  to  make  a 
new  system  of  fortifications  in  front  of  our 

28 


THE  EXCAVATORS 

trenches.  Already  the  patrols  are  out  in 
front,  well  forward,  to  protect  the  work- 
ing party.  A  section  of  engineers  has  come 
to  trace  out  and  execute  the  more  technical 
part,  the  actual  excavation  will  be  done 
by  these  old  men  who  are  slowly  and  awk- 
wardly trying  to  jump  the  ditch  under 
the  watchful  eye  of  the  commandant. 

Commandant  V is  a  gallant  gentle- 
man and  I  have  no  fear  that  his  cane  did 
more  than  caress  the  shoulder  of  that  citizen 
from  Beziers.  But  it  is  not  a  moment  for 
gentleness.  It  is  all  in  the  day's  work, 
and  the  Germans  are  only  a  few  yards 
away.  It  is  annoying  to  have  these  old 
men  make  so  much  trouble  about  such  a 
trifle  as  jumping  from  one  bank  of  earth 
to  another!  But  the  poor  fellows  can 
do  no  better. 

Theirs  is  a  hard  duty.  What  can  they 
do  in  this  young  men's  war?  Renew  their 
youth  perhaps.  I  know  some  who,  in  spite 
of  their  forty  years,  have  the  hearts  of  ado- 
lescents. But  others  come,  dragging  limbs 
which  are  heavy  and  numb,  and  with  souls 
that  are  fast  asleep.  Before  the  war  they 
were  living  among  their  vineyards  in  distant 
sunlit  provinces.  Here  is  one,  for  example, 

29 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

who  kept  a  shop  and  who  was  comfortably 
growing  prosperous.  Here  is  another  who 
was  a  man  of  reputation  in  his  village  and 
who  won  renown  by  his  skilful  play  at 
manille*  Now  they  spend  their  nights 
in  the  mud  and  their  hours  of  repose  on  the 
straw  behind  the  lines.  Their  work,  like  that 
of  criminals,  commences  only  when  the  night 
has  fallen  and  they  never  labour  by  light 
of  day.  No  more  golden  wine  in  tinkling 
glasses;  they  now  take  their  liquor  at  one 
gulp,  shudder,  and  talk  of  something  else. 
For  tools  they  have  their  choice  between 
shovel  and  pick.  To  be  sure,  each  one  has 
his  gun,  but  for  months  it  has  been  of  use 
only  as  an  extra  burden  upon  his  back. 

To-night  I  cannot  help  pitying  them  a 
little.  The  rain  is  falling  in  torrents;  one 
can  hardly  see  two  paces  ahead.  I  have 
been  able  to  see  their  attitudes — funny  or 
pitiful — only  because  from  below  the  muggy 
sky  forms  a  background. 

But  the  picture  changes,  the  last  terri- 
torial has  crossed  the  opening,  and  I  see 
above  me  two  shadows  of  a  different  type. 
They  are  the  officers  wrapped  in  their 


*ManilIe  is  a  game  played  with  cards. 
30 


THE  EXCA7ATORS 

waterproofs.  I  recognize  the  Commandant 
by  his  erect  figure,  his  brusque  utterance, 
and  his  precise  gestures.  He  is  speaking 
in  a  low  tone,  but  his  voice  has  lost  none  of 
its  warmth: 

"Mon  petit,  do  your  work  quickly,  but 
do  it  well;  and  don't  forget  that  I  shall  be 
interested  in  watching  you." 

I  cannot  recognize  the  other,  but  he  seems 
very  young.  Suddenly  a  German  star  shell 
shoots  up  and  bursts  into  light.  Doubtless 
the  men  exposed  in  the  open  have  thrown 
themselves  flat  on  the  ground  for  conceal- 
ment, but  these  officers  absorbed  in  their 
conversation  remain  standing.  I  distin- 
guish the  features  of  the  second  man.  His 
face  is  thin  and  clean  shaven.  Glasses 
surmount  a  small,  straight  nose  with  smiling 
lips  beneath.  Frankness  and  intelligence 
are  written  on  his  forehead  and  energy  at 
the  point  of  his  chin. 

At  the  sight  of  this  graceful  figure  I  forget 
for  an  instant  the  war  and  its  miseries.  I 
can  picture  this  youth  at  the  annual  ball 
of  the  Poly  technique,  extending  the  courtesies 
of  the  school  to  some  pretty  Parisienne 
in  exactly  the  same  graceful  manner  as 
that  with  which  he  now  converses  with  his 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

chief.  As  an  officer  of  engineers  it  is  his 
duty  to  go  out  in  the  open  in  front  of  our 
lines  and  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  to  super- 
vise this  work.  He  is  bearing  two  grave 
responsibilities  which  disquiet  him  much 
more  than  the  thought  of  his  personal 
danger:  first,  the  execution  of  his  task  and, 
secondly,  the  safeguarding  of  the  lives  of 
all  those  older  men. 

In  speaking  of  this  young  officer  of  whose 
fate  I  am  ignorant  I  would  like  to  mention 
the  admiration  that  we  soldiers  of  the  in- 
fantry feel  for  our  comrades  of  the  engi- 
neers. They  form  a  magnificent  branch  of 
the  army  service;  their  work  is  always  for 
others  and  is  accomplished  often  at  the  cost 
of  suffering  and  terrific  loss  without  the  re- 
deeming feature  of  the  ability  to  fight  back. 
They  die  while  bridging  a  stream  that  the 
infantry  may  push  forward  in  the  direc- 
tion of  glory.  We  boast  of  being  at  the 
front,  but  they  carry  the  war  even  in  ad- 
vance of  the  front.  It  is  useless  to  classify 
merit  for  every  man  here  is  doing  his  best, 
but  these  engineer-soldiers  are  wonderful 
examples  of  fearlessness.  Their  entire  army 
of  carpenters,  locksmiths,  mechanicians, 
and  wheelwrights  exercises  its  various  crafts 

32 


THE  EXCAVATORS 

under  fire  with  admirable  deliberation.  I 
would  also  like  that  a  part  of  the  nation's 
gratitude  should  go  to  those  good  territorials 
who,  although  the  post  was  not  one  of 
their  seeking,  have  certainly  become  the 
faithful  auxiliaries  of  the  engineers. 

Trench  warfare  has  condemned  us  all  to 
the  work  of  digging.  We  are  the  foremen  of 
labour  gangs  and  our  soldiers  merely  labour- 
ers. Still,  we  of  the  active  branches  of  the 
service  have  the  joy  of  guarding  our  pits  as 
soldiers,  once  these  pits  are  completed.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  territorials  dig  trenches 
and  go  away.  In  the  early  days  of  the 
war  entire  regiments  of  the  territorial  army 
were  employed  in  the  burial  of  the  dead — 
men  and  horses.  Now  they  dig  ditches  for 
the  living.  Is  it  any  more  pleasant  ? 

To-night  they  are  really  having  their 
troubles.  It  is  humiliating  to  be  required  to 
run  and  jump,  fall  quickly  on  one's  stomach, 
and  get  up  without  showing  one's  stiffness 
when  a  man  is  beginning  to  feel  his  advanc- 
ing years.  To  dig  a  ditch  is  one  thing,  but  to 
get  out  of  it  with  agility  is  another.  The  eyes 
of  these  men  are  no  longer  like  those  of  boys 
of  twenty,  nor  are  their  hearts  like  those  of 
the  youngsters  of  the  class  of  "15"  who 

33 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

despise  death.  On  such  an  inky  night  as 
this  they  are  uneasy.  Where  are  the 
Boches  ?  Are  they  not  likely  to  shoot  from 
such  close  range?  The  more  youthful 
soldiers  who  are  doing  guard  duty  guess 
at  their  anxieties  and  have  a  little  sport  at 
their  expense: 

"You  know,  old  man,  this  is  a  pretty 
dangerous  spot!" 

"Are  they  near?" 

"Who?" 

"The  Boches." 

"  Don't  worry  about  the  Boches,  they  are 
at  least  thirty  metres  from  here." 

" Thirty  metres!     Impossible!" 

The  old  man  is  horrified,  but  all  the  same 
a  secret  pride  takes  possession  of  him. 
When  he  goes  back  home  he  will  be  able 
to  say  that  he  has  worked  within  thirty 
metres  of  the  Germans.  Half  trembling 
and  half  content,  he  resumes  his  digging 
and  wallowing  in  the  mud. 

As  for  my  men  and  me,  we  certainly  did 
not  come  to  fight  with  shovels,  but  we  have 
gaily  accepted  our  unexpected  destiny.  We 
are  in  love  with  duty;  we  welcome  it,  no 
matter  what  form  it  takes. 

One  is  surprised,  however,  to  find  how 

34 


THE  EXCAVATORS 

much  joy  one  gets  in  digging  a  really  good 
trench.  I  will  tell  you  about  one,  a  master- 
piece, of  which  we  were  truly  proud.  I  will 
try  to  be  modest  but  without  promising  to 
succeed. 

We  were  ordered  to  trace  in  front  of  the 
trench  which  my  section  occupied,  a  gallery 
one  hundred  and  fifty  metres  in  length, 
extending  from  our  line  straight  toward  the 
Boches.  What  is  it  for?  That  was  a  mys- 
tery. Two  days  later  we  were  to  learn  that 
it  was  the  route  for  an  attack.  That  evening 
my  mind  was  obsessed  with  one  idea :  to  ad- 
vance a  trench  one  hundred  and  fifty  metres 
in  a  perfectly  straight  line.  The  words 
"perfectly  straight"  amazed  me.  I  ran 
to  the  telephone: 

"Hello!  Commandant,  must  the  line  be 
perfectly  straight?" 

"Yes,  absolutely.  Hurry,  for  you  must 
finish  in  two  nights." 

We  had,  at  this  point,  a  completed  section 
of  trench  forty  metres  long  leading  forward 
to  a  listening  post.  After  a  consultation 
with  my  officers  we  decided  to  utilize  this 
and  extend  it  one  hundred  and  ten  metres 
farther.  We  climbed  out  of  the  trench 
and  started  off  toward  the  German  line, 

35 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

counting  the  paces.  We  experienced  an 
emotion  different  from  those  we  usually  feel 
when  out  on  skirmishing  or  patrol  duty. 
At  such  a  time  a  man  is  waging  war,  he  can 
use  prudence  or  aggression,  can  reconnoitre 
and  retreat.  This  night  we  were  going 
out  into  the  unknown  much  as  Christopher 
Columbus  went  toward  America.  Only  a 
few  days  earlier  our  trenches  had  been 
pushed  forward  and  we  did  not  as  yet  have 
definite  information  as  to  the  distance 
separating  us  from  the  enemy.  We  had 
the  feeling  that  we  might,  at  any  moment, 
run  into  his  barbed-wire  entanglements. 

As  we  advanced,  I  posted  my  two  com- 
panions at  different  points  to  make  my 
return  easier,  and  I  counted  off  the  last 
forty  paces  alone.  I  had  a  curious  feeling. 
There  was  absolutely  no  noise,  and  the  dark- 
ness was  so  complete  that  I  could  not  even 
tell  where  to  place  my  feet.  Suppose  the 
Germans  had  heard  us  and  prepared  an 
ambuscade!  I  might  run  against  them  or 
actually  tread  upon  their  bodies!  When 
at  last  I  had  measured  what  seemed  to  me 
to  be  the  hundred  and  ten  paces,  I  added 
two  more,  either  for  the  sake  of  my 
conscience  or  purely  in  bravado — I  do  not 

36 


THE  EXCAFATORS 

know  which — and  stuck  my  cane  into  the 
ground. 

From  that  moment  this  was  conquered 
ground.  To  win  it,  it  had  been  necessary 
to  master  an  emotion.  All  of  us  would  now 
be  able  to  walk  along  this  line  without  a 
thought  of  danger.  That  danger  still  ex- 
isted, still  was  great,  but  no  longer  would  we 
be  conscious  of  it. 

But  how  were  we  to  make  our  line  straight  ? 
You  would  doubtless  say:  Stretch  a  cord 
and  follow  it.  The  problem,  however,  was 
not  so  simple.  Forty  metres  of  our  line 
were  already  traced  and  dug.  If  my  cord 
commenced  at  the  end  of  this  completed 
portion  I  would  have  two  straight  elements, 
but  they  would  almost  certainly  be  angu- 
lated  at  their  junction.  You  would  then 
perhaps  tell  me  to  start  my  cord  near  the 
beginning  of  the  completed  trench.  Wise 
words,  but  my  cord  was  too  short !  I  had 
never  studied  surveying  but  had  often  seen 
the  red-and-white  stakes  used  in  that  work. 
Surveyors  place  two  stakes  in  the  desired 
direction  and  then  project  a  third  one  by 
sighting  over  the  two  already  placed.  A 
long  line  may  be  made  quite  as  straight  in 
this  manner  as  with  the  best-stretched  cord. 

37 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

* 

I  had  no  stakes,  but  I  had  men  who  might 
be  substituted  for  them.  My  eye  could 
not  pierce  1 10  metres  of  the  inky  darkness, 
but  I  was  able  to  see  two  paces  ahead.  I 
therefore  posted  some  men  two  paces  apart 
and  in  a  line  which  pointed  in  the  right 
direction.  By  lying  down  and  looking  up- 
ward, with  the  sky  as  a  background,  I  could 
see  a  part  of  the  line  which  their  motionless 
figures  made.  When  this  was  absolutely 
straight,  two  men  ran  along  to  the  right  and 
left  of  the  file  and  marked  the  two  sides  of 
the  trench.  In  this  way  the  line  was  com- 
pleted, and  the  work  of  excavation  begun. 

It  is  in  times  like  these  that  one  gets  an 
insight  into  the  characters  of  the  men.  For 
the  most  advanced  positions  we  called  for 
volunteers.  These  were  the  best  workers. 
Farther  back  one  found  the  slackers  who 
were  continually  resting  with  their  arms 
crossed  on  the  handles  of  their  spades.  Those 
who  were  afraid  showed  it  by  commencing  to 
dig  furiously  the  moment  they  had  reached 
their  assigned  position  in  order  to  make  a 
hole  to  shelter  themselves.  Once  protected, 
their  ardour  slackened  visibly,  for  they 
knew  that  when  they  had  finished  their 
portion  they  would  be  asked  to  recommence 

38 


THE  EXCAVATORS 

farther  forward  and  thus  expose  their 
precious  skin  anew.  Finally  there  were 
the  talkative  ones  whom  even  proximity 
to  the  Germans  could  not  repress : 

"My  old  woman  would  have  a  fright  if 
she  could  see  me  here!" 

"  Keep  quiet." 

"What's  the  matter?  You  don't  think 
I  am  afraid  of  the  Boches,  do  you?" 

"Shut  up,  I  tell  you." 

"It  would  take  more  than  them  to  scare 
me." 

It  is  no  use  trying  to  stop  that  good 
fellow.  He  says  something,  spits  on  his 
hands,  says  something  more,  and  so  on. 
Little  by  little,  while  he  chatters  and  works, 
the  trench  takes  shape,  deepens,  and  is 
finished.  Let  them  send  up  as  many  illu- 
minating rockets  as  they  please,  we  no 
longer  have  to  bend  forward  to  conceal 
ourselves  and  the  trick  is  won. 

At  2  A.  M.  I  sent  my  men  off  to  lie  down, 
but  I  remained  waiting  for  daybreak. 
I  wished  to  know  whether  my  line  was 
straight.  I  found  one  of  my  sergeants 
had  also  remained  and  was  busily  examining 
the  trench. 

"Why  did  you  stay?"  I  asked  him. 

39 


COMRADES  IN  'COURAGE 

"  For  no  special  reason." 

"  Did  you  want  to  see  whether  the  trench 
was  straight?" 

"Perhaps,  sir." 

He  was  a  big  youth  of  the  tenacious  type. 
He  had  been  working  on  this  trench  in  the 
same  way  in  which  he  makes  aluminium 
rings  from  the  fuse  caps  of  German  shells. 
He  works  at  them  with  all  his  heart  and 
never  lets  up  until  they  are  finished  and  a 
credit  to  him. 

When  at  last  the  day  came  I  tasted  one 
of  the  purest  joys  of  my  life.  Each  of  us, 
in  turn,  sighted  from  the  entrance  of  the 
boyau  and  found  that  we  could  see  from 
one  extremity  to  the  other  without  moving 
and  that  a  bullet  fired  from  a  rifle  would  go 
through  from  end  to  end.  Five  minutes  later 
I  was  dreaming  like  a  king  upon  my  straw. 

The  war  has  given  us  simple  tastes  and 
rendered  our  ambitions  modest  by  bridging 
over  many  centuries  and  taking  us  back 
to  the  age  of  the  cave-dwellers.  With  the 
hardest  of  heart-breaking  work  we  have 
had  to  defend  our  trenches  and  shelters, 
not  only  against  the  attacks  of  man,  but 
also  against  the  violence  of  Nature.  We 
have  borne  it  all  without  a  thought  of 

40 


THE  EXCAVATORS 

despair  and  almost  without  complaint. 
We  shall  cease  to  endure  only  if,  after  the 
war,  pseudo  philosophers  again  begin  teach- 
ing lazy  people  to  regard  pleasure  and 
luxury  as  their  supreme  goal.  If  we  gave 
the  right  to  live  and  the  right  to  happiness 
to  a  new  generation  composed  only  of  idlers, 
we  should  be  insulting  our  dead  and  our 
own  past  sufferings. 

In  the  middle  of  December,  1914,  it  was 
not  a  question  of  our  rights.  Only  a  few 
days  earlier,  after  a  severe  bombardment, 
the  Germans  had  taken  us  by  surprise  and 
destroyed  a  part  of  our  trenches.  We 
promptly  chased  them  out  again  and  were 
awaiting  a  second  attack  when  a  new 
enemy  appeared  in  the  form  of  rain. 

I  remember  the  night-watch  in  the  offi- 
cers* post.  The  captain  was  sleeping  on 
the  ground  on  a  bundle  of  damp  straw. 
At  his  feet  lay  his  orderly,  Joseph.  He  was 
a  perfect  type  of  faithful  servant  and 
always  slept  thus  with  his  head  pillowed 
on  his  master's  legs.  They  were  snoring 
peacefully,  a  shapeless  heap  over  which  we 
tried  not  to  stumble.  Reclining  on  some 
empty  sacks  was  the  guard,  telling  stories 
of  his  own  part  of  the  country  to  a  scoffing 


lad  who  was  fastening  some  tent  canvas  to 
the  ceiling  to  prevent  a  leak.  Another 
lieutenant  and  I  were  seated  upon  the  same 
plank.  The  rain  was  beating  down  vio- 
lently outside,  while  inside  the  cold  water 
was  dripping  treacherously  down  upon  our 
backs.  Six  men  in  all,  we  filled  this 
wretched  hole  so  completely  that  a  mouse 
scarcely  could  have  passed  between  us. 

For  two  hours  it  had  been  raining.  It 
was  my  duty  and  that  of  my  friend  to 
go  alternately  to  the  trench.  In  those  days 
we  did  not  enjoy  the  luxury  of  waterproofs, 
nor  did  we  have  pocket-lamps.  We  had 
gone  to  war  without  thinking  of  such  things. 

When  my  turn  came  I  went  to  chat  a  little 
with  the  lookouts.  I  found  them  drenched 
to  the  skin.  Since  that  time  we  have 
undergone  both  longer  and  stronger  rains, 
but  never  have  we  seen  so  much  water. 
From  midnight  to  midnight,  for  twenty-four 
whole  hours,  we  had  to  watch  the  caving  in 
of  the  ground  about  us,  and  finally  the 
destruction  of  our  trenches.  In  order  to 
escape,  for  a  moment,  from  the  mud — in 
which  we  sank  to  our  ankles  and  in  certain 
spots  up  to  our  knees — I  climbed  up  onto 
the  field  behind  the  line  and  tried  to  clean 

42 


THE  EXCAVATORS 

my  clogged  shoes  in  the  damp  grass.  The 
day  before  a  large  pit  had  been  dug  there, 
in  which  we  had  intended  to  instal  our 
Headquarters  staff.  It  had  not  been 
covered  and  I  wanted  to  see  what  remained 
of  it.  I  climbed  down  and  found  it  full 
of  water  save  for  an  elevation  in  one  corner 
intended  to  serve  as  a  bed. 

I  was  sitting  sadly  upon  an  old  box  when, 
suddenly,  I  felt  a  warm  breath  on  my  cheek. 
A  great  black  shape  had  emerged  from  the 
shadows.  It  proved  to  be  a  large,  silent 
dog,  soaked  through  and  through,  who 
thrust  his  muzzle  in  my  ear.  He  was  very 
unhappy,  but  no  more  than  I.  When  I 
petted  him,  it  was  like  touching  a  wet 
sponge  in  a  bucket  of  tepid  water.  I  moved 
away;  he  followed  me.  Never  have  I  been 
more  impressed  than  by  the  precautions 
that  animal  took  to  keep  from  making 
any  noise.  There  are  dogs  who  bay  at 
the  moon  and  howl  at  death.  The  throat 
of  this  one  must  have  been  choked  by  the 
universal  mourning.  He  went  down  with 
me  into  the  trench  where  I  heard  him 
splashing  in  the  water  behind  me  and 
panting  mournfully.  I  managed  to  per- 
suade him  to  curl  up  against  Joseph,  but  in 

43 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

the  morning  I  was  told  that  he  had  disap- 
peared like  a  ghost. 

I  heard  of  the  fate  of  our  shelter  and  of  its 
inhabitants  the  next  day  from  someone  else. 
My  friend  and  I,  in  the  meantime,  were  busily 
occupied  with  the  men.  We  felt  we  could 
set  them  a  good  example,  even  if  we  were 
powerless  to  help  in  any  other  way.  We 
learned,  however,  that  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  the  roof  of  our  post  had  caved  in 
on  top  of  the  captain.  The  poor  man,  who 
was  already  old,  had  managed  after  much 
difficulty  to  reach  the  shelter  of  a  non- 
commissioned officer.  He  was  sent  to  the 
rear  some  days  later.  As  for  the  faithful 
Joseph,  he  had  remained  to  watch  the  sup- 
plies all  that  day  and  night  resolving, 
partly  from  devotion,  partly  from  fear, 
to  die  in  that  swamp  rather  than  to  cross 
the  surrounding  quagmire  which  the  evening 
before  we  had  so  proudly  called  "le  boyau  de 
commandement;"  "le  poste  des  agents  de 
liaisons;"  "le  poste  telephonique"  He 
neither  ate  nor  moved  until  the  following 
night  when  we  were  relieved,  and  then  it  was 
necessary  to  assist  him  behind  the  lines. 

Now  commenced  a  series  of  trials  in  which 
the  men  showed  a  truly  heroic  resignation. 

44 


THE  EXCAVATORS 

Their  rifles  had  been  left  in  various  dugouts 
and  when  the  men  went  to  hunt  for  them 
there  was  so  much  mud,  in  what  remained  of 
the  trenches,  that  they  had  to  take  off  their 
shoes  and  roll  up  their  trousers  to  their 
thighs.  That  was  a  novelty  and  they 
laughed.  But  when,  after  donning  their 
equipment  preparatory  to  going  to  rest  bil- 
lets in  the  neighbouring  village,  the  company 
was  unexpectedly  ordered  to  remain  in  the 
second  line,  the  men  felt  more  like  weeping. 
They  were  willing  to  spend  fifty  days  in 
the  trenches  if  so  ordered,  but  it  was  a  sore 
trial  when,  actually  on  the  way  back  to 
cantonment,  they  learned  that  there  had 
been  a  counter  order  and  that  they  would 
once  again  have  to  choose  between  remaining 
outside  in  the  drenching  rain,  or  lying  down, 
soaked  to  the  skin,  in  a  freezing  cave  filled 
with  mud.  The  poor  fellows  spent  their  night 
huddled  against  bare  trees,  which  at  this 
stage  of  the  war  had  not  yet  been  levelled. 

The  next  day  some  forty  of  them  were 
working  on  a  neighbouring  road  using  their 
shovels  to  repair  the  damage  done  by  the 
flood,  when  there  came  the  whistle  of  a  shell 
falling  right  in  their  midst.  They  all  threw 
themselves  flat  on  the  ground.  I  was  fifteen 

45 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

metres  away  and  when  I  got  up  again  I  saw 
them  all  dispersing  like  a  flock  of  fright- 
ened sparrows.  In  a  moment  they  had  dis- 
appeared into  the  trench,  all  save  four  who 
were  dragging  themselves  along  the  ground. 
We  ran  to  them  and  found  them  seriously 
but  not  mortally  wounded. 

Yet  that  night,  when  marching  back  to  the 
rear,  do  you  think  the  men  spoke  of  the  rain, 
of  the  sufferings  they  had  endured  ?  Of  them 
never  a  word;  but  someone  remarked  that 
if  a  French  75-millimetre  shell  had  fallen 
in  the  same  way  as  the  enemy  shell,  it  would 
have  killed  at  least  forty  men,  and  they  made 
fun  of  the  Germans. 

When  we  came  back,  four  days  later,  we 
found  the  trench  entirely  rebuilt.  Our  com- 
rades had  done  their  work  well. 

Such  misfortunes  would  not  happen  to  us 
to-day.  Now  we  have  drains  in  the  boyaux, 
linings  along  the  firing  parapets,  and  solidly 
built  shelters.  The  labour  necessary  to 
bring  about  these  results  was  enormous. 

At  first  we  had  only  a  firing  trench  and 
along  it  each  of  us  dug  a  hole  for  himself,  as 
best  he  could,  in  which  he  might  try  to  sleep. 
Later  on  another  trench  was  built  parallel  to 
the  first  and  connected  by  a  small  boyau. 

46 


THE  EXCAVATORS 

To  right  and  left,  in  this  second  trench 
which  resembled  a  street,  were  the  caves  in 
which  we  installed  ourselves.  We  gave  all 
sorts  of  names  to  these  compartments — 
"cagna"  "gourbi,"  "guitoune"  etc.  Officially 
they  are  known  as  abris  (shelters). 

Communication  with  this  double  line  of 
trenches  was  possible  only  at  night.  Next, 
the  great  boyaux  were  invented  which  al- 
lowed complete  communication  between  the 
first  line  and  the  rear  in  broad  daylight. 
To-day  these  are  numerous  and  intersect 
like  the  streets  of  a  city.  These  streets 
were  given  names  such  as  "  Boyau  of  the 
Rats";  "Boyau  of  the  Germans";  "Boyau 
Castlenau"  because  otherwise  it  would  be 
hopeless  to  try  and  find  one's  way  among 
these  paths  which  look  exactly  alike.  If  there 
was  an  inn,  a  grocery  store,  or  a  pharmacy 
at  this  or  that  corner,  it  would  be  simple. 
But  one  still  goes  astray,  although  the  names 
are  placarded  everywhere. 

I  wonder  whether  it  will  ever  be  possible 
to  estimate  the  labour  represented  by  such 
works  of  excavation.  If  our  men  have 
found  security  or  repose  in  their  subter- 
ranean houses,  they  have  fully  earned  the 
right  to  enjoy  them. 

47 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

To-day  it  is  in  the  architecture  of  the 
gourbis  that  we  excel.  There  are  two 
schools:  those  who  advocate  the  cave  dug 
in  the  side  of  the  wall  and  those  who  pre- 
fer the  built-up  shelter. 

The  dugouts  had  to  be  prohibited  at  one 
time  in  a  certain  region,  because  they  were 
always  caving  in.  Here  where  we  are,  on 
the  contrary  they  are  recommended,  but 
must  be  very  deep  and  timbered.  We  have 
in  our  ranks  miners  from  Pas-de-Calais  who 
construct  them.  , 

At  first  the  shelters  were  badly  covered. 
An  old  door  and  a  little  earth  sufficed;  we 
were  not  difficult  to  please.  If  a  man  had  a 
few  branches  and  a  tent  canvas  over  his 
head,  he  felt  that  he  could  play  manille 
in  absolute  security.  If  a  shell  burst,  he 
answered  it  by  throwing  down  a  trump. 
Many  were  killed  in  this  manner,  in  gourbis 
covered  only  with  canvas  and  wood.  Little 
by  little  the  number  of  shell-proof  shelters 
increased  and  now  our  men  spend  the  major 
part  of  their  time  in  bringing  up  from  the 
rear  enormous  wooden  beams  to  be  placed 
in  numerous  and  compact  layers  on  the 
roofs  of  our  shelters. 

All  this  does  not  resemble  the  stories 
48 


THE  EXCAVATORS 

which  are  written  about  this  war.  If  you 
prefer  to  hear  about  deeds  of  valour,  let 
others  relate  them.  After  peace  is  declared 
we  will  feast  on  glory  while  reviving  the 
memories  that  we  are  now  accumulating. 
My  present  object  is  to  pay  tribute  to  the 
intrepidity  of  the  troops,  even  in  the  most 
modest  instances,  and  to  analyze  the  lesson 
that  each  of  us  will  learn  from  our  great  hour 
of  trial.  Whatever  our  rank,  our  education, 
or  our  especial  science,  we  have  all  become 
excavators  or  burden-bearers.  At  the  bar- 
racks the  men  used  to  complain  because 
they  were  set  to  work  peeling  potatoes. 
Here  the  potatoes  are  peeled  by  cooks,  but 
as  soon  as  the  men  return  from  the  observa- 
tion post  and  unload  their  rifles,  they  must 
lay  aside  their  proud  role  of  guardians  of 
France  and  march  off  with  enormous  tim- 
bers upon  their  shoulders,  their  heads  bowed 
and  their  faces  covered  with  perspiration, 
more  like  convicts  than  like  soldiers.  Pride 
must  be  strengthened  with  muscle.  Night 
and  day  we  must  resign  ourselves  to  a  kind 
of  labour  which  would  be  considered  de- 
grading in  civil  life.  But  it  is  our  duty. 
The  humblest  tasks  are  ennobled  by  virtue 
of  this  magical  word  which  we  had  for- 

49 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

gotten  and  which  the  war  has  taught  us 
once  more. 

Proof  of  this  is  found  in  the  gladness  of  our 
hearts.  We  find  joy  in  the  smallest  things 
and  we  laugh  incessantly.  I  do  not  mean 
to  say  there  are  no  desirable  joys  in  peace, 
but  we  had  become  satiated  with  enjoyment 
like  rich  children  who  have  too  many  toys 
within  their  grasp.  This  is  a  school  of 
suffering  and  we  learn  to  content  ourselves 
with  little.  This  corporal  who  has  made  an 
excellent  saw  out  of  an  old  clock-spring 
found  in  the  ruins  of  a  village,  and  who 
uses  it  to  make  rings  from  the  aluminium 
shell-fuses,  is  happier  now  with  his  im- 
provised tool  than  when  he  used  his  leisure 
time  in  running  from  cabaret  to  cabaret. 
This  is  a  vital  lesson,  we  must  not  let  it 
pass  unnoticed. 

It  is  good  for  all  of  us  in  every  rank.  The 
men  accomplish  their  hard  tasks,  but  the 
officers  who  command  them  are  little  more 
than  overseers  assigned  to  a  hard,  inglorious 
labour.  They  also  bow  to  the  inevitable. 

I    can    remember    Commandant    V 

supervising  the  distribution  of  picks  and 
shovels  among  the  men  of  my  company. 
He  is  a  distinguished  officer  and  now  pur- 

50 


THE  EXCAFATORS 

sues  his  career  at  the  head  of  a  splendid 
regiment.  I  will  always  regret  the  departure 
of  this  chief  whose  many  accomplishments 
and  knowledge  of  science  always  made  me 
marvel.  He  was  very  strict  in  the  service, 
but  above  all  strict  with  himself.  He  would 
have  a  charming  ease  of  manner  after  giving 
his  orders,  which  were  always  precise.  He 
received  great  parcels  from  home  and  he 
loved  to  have  us  share  his  luxuries.  At  the 
bottom  of  the  short  notes  of  instruction 
which  he  wrote  for  us  each  day  there  always 
were  sentences  like  this:  "For  the  officers: 
an  artichoke,  a  cake,  three  fresh  eggs. "  An- 
other time  it  would  be  a  small  can  of  foie 
gras,  or  sardines,  or  the  first  spring  radishes. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  it  was  a  question 
of  hastily  constructing  a  boyau  he  would 
insist  that  the  tool  count  be  exact,  that 
the  distribution  of  work  along  the  different 
sectors  be  made  in  an  orderly  manner — 
in  silence  and  with  the  greatest  possible 
speed.  Even  if  it  rained  in  torrents  he 
would  stand  among  the  beet  fields,  straight 
as  an  arrow,  emphasizing  his  orders  with  a 
wave  of  his  stick. 

In  addition,  it  was  always  he  himself  who 
traced  out  the  work  that  had  to  be  done. 

Si 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

Once  I  spent  an  entire  night  at  his  side 
while  the  men  were  strengthening  with  tim- 
bers a  new  line  of  communication  which  he 
wished  to  establish  between  our  first  and 
second  lines.  Twice  I  tried  to  tell  him 
that  I  would  manage  the  affair  without 
him.  He  would  not  admit  that  a  chief 
should  rest  when  his  subordinates  were 
working. 

My  friends  and  I  admired  the  importance 
that  this  man  attached  to  the  smallest 
duties.  During  the  tragic  hours  of  the 
beginning  of  the  campaign  he  had  given 
the  highest  proof  of  his  worth  and  it  was 
a  great  inspiration  to  us. 

As  for  the  colonel,  I  shall  always  recollect 
him  and  the  robber-like  cave  in  which  he 
lived  at  the  beginning  of  the  trench  war- 
fare. As  there  were  no  boyaux  in  those 
days  it  was  possible  to  visit  him  only  after 
.nightfall  and  in  the  dark  one  often  wandered 
interminably  in  the  beet  fields,  guarding 
the  cows  as  the  men  call  it,  before  finding 
the  beam  of  light  emerging  from  the  hole 
in  the  ground  which  was  his  home.  After 
descending  a  few  steps  and  pushing  aside 
a  canvas  curtain  usually  soaked  from  the 
heavy  rains,  one  entered  a  rectangular 

52 


THE  EXCAVATORS 

chamber  always  filled  with  tobacco  smoke. 
The  walls  were  littered  with  objects  either 
hanging  on  hooks  or  reposing  on  crudely 
constructed  shelves — pieces  of  china,  a 
few  books,  several  rifles,  a  German  helmet, 
maps  in  quantities,  quite  a  few  bottles,  and 
a  telephone.  The  place  was  furnished  with 
a  straw  mattress,  a  stove,  a  chair,  and  a 
table  piled  high  with  journals,  notes,  and 
papers.  Sitting  behind  the  table  would  be 
found  a  magnificent  looking  man  clad  in 
a  hunting  vest  and  velvet  trousers.  One 
would  scarcely  think  him  a  soldier,  but 
rather  a  philosopher  taking  refuge  from  the 
world  in  order  to  enjoy  his  favourite  pleas- 
ures— reading  and  meditation.  However, 
that  powerful  jaw  denoted  the  man  of 
action,  and  did  one  ever  encounter  a  hermit 
with  such  gaiety  of  manner  ? 

The  source  of  his  contentment  was  no 
secret.  Having  experienced  every  horror  of 
war  and  having  prepared  himself  a  hundred 
times  to  make  the  sacrifice  of  his  life,  he 
was  no  longer  affected  by  the  petty  priva- 
tions and  miseries  which  ordinarily  offend 
humanity.  On  the  contrary,  the  slightest 
distraction  in  his  den  assumed  the  pro- 
portions of  a  beautiful  event  from  which  he 

53 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

drew  the  greatest  delectation.  Personally,  I 
have  never  laughed  so  much  or  so  whole- 
heartedly as  since  the  beginning  of  the  war. 
Do  not  say  it  is  hysteria,  it  is  the  laughter 
of  cheerfulness. 

One  evening  there  were  to  be  seen  three 
crazy  people,  singing  as  they  ran  arm  in 
arm  along  the  road.  Shall  I  confess  that 
I  was  one  of  them?  It  was  midnight.  My 
two  comrades  and  I  had  just  come  from  the 
boyaux.  Our  men  were  marching  ahead  of 
us,  delighted  to  be  going  back  to  the  can- 
tonment for  rest.  We,  the  officers,  were 
following  the  company  at  a  distance,  having 
been  delayed  by  the  necessity  of  minutely 
explaining  the  orders  to  those  who  were 
relieving  us.*  Our  hearts  began  to  beat 
more  quickly  when  we  mounted  the  earthen 
steps  which  liberated  us  from  the  last 
trench  and  we  felt  for  the  first  time  in 
a  fortnight  the  fresh  air  about  us  and  a 
good  stone  road  under  our  feet.  Our 
emotion  was  scarcely  due  to  relief  at  turn- 
ing our  backs  to  the  enemy.  We  were  only 
leaving  the  zone  of  bullets  for  that  of  shells, 
as  the  camp,  which  was  the  object  of  our 
desire,  was  constantly  under  bombardment. 
But  we  were  escaping  from  out  tombs 

54 


THE  EXCAVATORS 

I  recall  that  the  sky  was  gray  and  full  of 
dark,  majestically-moving  clouds  which 
seemed  full  of  water.  Through  this  humid 
screen  the  moon  shed  enough  light  to 
illuminate  and  magnify  two  or  three  solitary 
trees  on  the  plain.  I  found  time  in  the 
midst  of  my  gaiety  to  think  of  Corot.  He 
would  have  loved  to  see  the  foliage  melt 
away  and  the  limbs  of  the  elms  stretch  out 
their  black  lines  in  a  ghostly  night  like  this. 
However,  the  firm  white  earth  of  a  real 
French  road  was  more  charming  to  us  than 
all  the  poetry  of  these  tragic  trees. 

We  pounded  our  heels  upon  the  stones, 
and  certainly  the  heels  of  a  soldier  make 
enough  noise  without  that.  We  threw  out 
our  chests  and  suddenly  surprised  one  an- 
other by  saying  almost  together  that  we 
were  happy.  The  enemy's  rockets  danced 
to  right  and  left  and  behind,  illuminating 
the  horizon  as  if  for  a  feast.  Guns  roared  in 
the  distance  like  lions  in  a  menagerie. 
Softly  we  hummed  the  old  home  songs  and 
they  brought  back  all  the  vivid  memories 
of  my  youth. 

A  long  time  ago  I  gambolled  with  other 
children  of  my  age  on  the  road  which  runs 
along  the  beach  of  Middlekerque.  I  did  not 

55 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

dream  that  one  day  Middlekerque  would  be 
at  the  extreme  right  of  the  most  terrible 
army  of  invasion  ever  known  in  history, 
and  still  less  did  I  think  that,  if  that  event 
occurred,  I  should  find  myself,  as  in  those 
fine  autumnal  mornings,  singing  "  Frere 
Jacques"  with  friends  just  as  dear. 


LIBERTY 


III 

J^iberty 

THIS  morning  we  had  to  punish  two 
men  who  were  guilty  of   absence 
from  the  camp  at  night.     During 
our  march  back  to  the  trenches  I  watched 
them  in  the  ranks.    They  were  not  accept- 
ing their  misfortune  cheerfully.     Still  full 
of  wine,  with  their  heads  heavy  from  the 
fumes  of  the  liquor,  they  were  exchanging 
their  views  on  destiny,  like  the  augurs  of 
old! 

"I  wish  this  war  would  end  soon!" 
"We  shall  be  able  to  say  what  we  think 
then!" 

"And  we  shall  be  free  once  more." 
"We  can  tell  them  a  few  things  when  we 
get  our  freedom  back!" 

It  hurts  me  to  hear  them  misconceive 
liberty  in  this  fashion  for  I,  too,  love  it  dearly 
— but  not  as  they  do.  They  want  the  right 

57 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

to  say  everything,  to  do  anything,  to  over- 
turn everything.  Personally,  I  want  more 
and  less  than  that  in  order  that  my  soul  may 
remain  free. 

Wise  people  have  known  for  a  long  time, 
and  the  mass  have  learned  from  the  war,  that 
pure  liberty — that  is  to  say  true  freedom  of 
will — does  not  exist.  What  exists  is  servi- 
tude ;  all  men,  all  beings,  even  the  most  pow- 
erful have  to  submit  to  that  law. 

At  the  present  time  we  have  the  choice 
between  French  discipline  and  German 
tyranny.  The  only  liberty  we  can  enjoy  is 
the  preference  of  one  to  the  other.  Once 
the  decision  is  made,  nobility  consists  in 
trying  to  serve  the  good  cause  without  abase- 
ment. One  can  obey  worthily  or  dishon- 
ourably. Freedom  exists  only  in  degrees 
of  servitude.  One  finds  both  heroes  and 
cowards  under  the  same  yoke.  To  the 
coward  the  hero  seems  a  free  man. 

The  important  thing  is  to  distinguish 
between  good  and  evil  obedience  and  to 
recognize  among  the  primary  laws  those  to 
which,  on  account  of  his  nature,  man  must 
submit.  There  is  merit  and  beauty  in  fol- 
lowing by  preference  these  inevitable  laws. 
One  snows  a  weakness  in  submitting  to  the 

58 


LIBERTY 

others  without  complaint ;  the  free  man  does 
not  always  obey  unquestioningly. 

But  which  are  these  necessary  laws? 

In  the  material  order  of  things  we  are 
beginning  to  recognize  them.  The  law  of 
falling  bodies,  for  example,  must  be  obeyed 
whether  you  wish  to  obey  it  or  n'ot.  If 
you  rebel  against  it,  you  are  not  thought 
free  but  insane!  Mad  people  throw  them- 
selves out  of  windows ;  people  of  intelligence 
accept  the  necessity  of  descending  to  the 
street  by  the  stairs.  They  know  that  it  is 
not  humiliating  slavery  to  obey  the  law  of 
gravity  which  binds  them  to  the  ground.  The 
recognition  of  other  necessary  laws  will  help 
us  to  conquer  the  air  without  violating  those 
rules  which  govern  matter.  Our  fault  consists 
in  not  knowing  these  other  laws  or  in  know- 
ing them  imperfectly.  Investigators  and 
scientists  devote  their  attention  to  finding 
them ;  and  when  they  have  been  formulated, 
business  people  apply  them.  That  is  called 
progress  and  proves  that  as  regards  matter 
the  last  word  of  progress  is  not  "liberty," 
but  the  intelligent  obedience  of  mankind  to 
the  laws  of  the  universe. 

It  is  just  the  same  in  the  spiritual  order 
of  things.  True  friends  of  liberty  do  not 

59 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

rebel  against  these  laws  but  try  to  know 
them  in  order  to  submit  to  them. 

Thus  more  than  one  of  the  familiar  no- 
tions of  our  so-called  "intellectuals"  are 
overturned.  We  like  to  establish  liberty 
in  our  institutions.  Nothing  is  more  fruit- 
less. The  thing  to  establish  is  not  liberty 
but  order. 

We  are  accustomed  to  speak  of  our  rights 
as  free  men.  In  regard  to  liberty  we  have 
no  rights  but  two  duties:  to  obey  the  true 
laws  and  to  free  ourselves  from  the  others. 

Let  each  of  us  exert  his  intelligence  and 
his  heart  to  follow  these  principles  and  the 
result  will  be  wise  men  with  high  ideals. 

The  great  present  law  is  to  save  our 
Motherland.  At  the  time  of  the  mobiliza- 
tion we  found  ourselves  face  to  face  with 
numerous  obligations,  of  which  only  one 
was  valid.  It  was  necessary  to  overcome 
many  obstacles,  to  free  ourselves  of  many 
duties,  to  obtain  release  from  ties  which 
were  regarded  as  sacred  in  times  of  peace, 
and  to  offer  ourselves  to  a  new  servitude 
with  hands  free  and  souls  which  owed  no 
other  allegiance.  Only  thus  could  the  two 
duties  of  independence  and  obedience  be  ob- 
served at  the  same  time. 

60 


LIBERTY 

It  is  said  that  noble  spirits  love  to  free 
themselves  from  the  yoke.  The  French  sol- 
diers in  violently  breaking  their  other  chains 
to  surrender  to  this,  the  most  sacred  law, 
felt  an  unequalled  joy  in  spite  of  their 
tears.  If  you  doubt  it,  compare  the  peace 
reigning  in  their  hearts  with  the  pangs  felt 
by  those  who,  under  a  thousand  pretexts, 
have  remained  behind  the  lines.  One  had 
to  devote  himself  to  his  children,  another 
to  his  business  affairs,  others  to  their  usual 
pursuits,  to  their  vices,  to  their  cowardice. 
We  always  have  ties.  We  must  sever  them 
when  our  duty  to  liberty  demands  it.  Let 
all  the  French  people  free  themselves  in  this 
manner  and  the  word  "liberty,"  which  was 
formerly  empty  of  meaning  when  applied  to 
our  institutions,  becomes  a  reality. 

A  citizen  thinks  himself  free  if  he  chooses 
his  sovereign.  However,  before  voting  he 
tries  to  find  out  the  opinions  of  the  official 
whom  he  distrusts  and  sums  up  the  services 
that  the  nominee  can  render  him  if  elected. 
The  shopkeeper  in  addition  considers  the 
opinion  of  his  clients  and  his  purveyors 
before  voting.  He  ought  to  obey  the  law 
of  the  public  good  instead  of  the  many  un- 
worthy ones  which  make  him  a  slave. 

61 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

It  is  true  that  this  man  ought  not  to  be 
burdened  with  the  responsibility  of  such  a 
choice.  It  is  no  easier  to  recognize  the 
public  good  than  the  great  laws  which  rule 
Nature.  If  we  want  the  French  people 
to  be  free,  that  is  to  say,  subject  only  to 
reasonable  laws,  then  let  us  leave  the 
care  of  establishing  order  to  the  people 
who  are  capable  of  it  and  demand  from  them 
guarantees  of  competence,  continuity,  and 
responsibility.  Expect  from  them  not  lib- 
erty but  prudent  laws.  Free  citizens 
should  neither  rebel  against  these  laws 
nor  against  the  people  who  have  the  difficult 
task  of  formulating  them;  but  rather  against 
the  low  kinds  of  tyranny  which  weigh  heav- 
ily upon  most  men. 

When  after  forty  days  in  the  trenches 
one  goes  to  the  cantonment  for  a  rest  it  is 
difficult  to  be  serious.  It  would  seem  so 
easy  to  spend  those  five  days  only  in  follow- 
ing one's  fancy.  Instead  a  march  to  the 
nearest  forest  is  usually  ordered  to  occupy 
the  troops,  amuse  them,  and  exercise  their 
stiff  limbs.  They  have  all  lost  the  habit  of 
keeping  their  places  in  the  ranks.  How- 
ever, the  officers  must  keep  them  well 
grouped  and  aligned.  We  once  met  a  troop 

62 


LIBERTY 

of  harassed  territorials  who  were  marching 
along  anyhow.  The  sight  of  them  amused 
our  fellows  very  much  and  I  listened  to  their 
remarks. 

"Do  you  see  those  fire-men ?" 

"They  are  so  old  they  no  longer  know 
how  to  march." 

"  Do  you  call  that  a  proper  defile  ? " 

A  little  later  we  met  a  company  of  young 
soldiers  belonging  to  the  "class  15"  whom 
we  all  love.  Our  men  exchanged  their 
impressions  like  connoisseurs.  They  were 
proud  of  their  little  comrades  and  admired 
their  easy  gait  and  orderly  ranks,  but  that 
did  not  make  them  any  more  ready  to 
follow  their  example.  However,  the  officers 
were  there  to  enforce  discipline.  It  is 
annoying  to  have  to  stay  in  the  ranks !  If 
a  man  stops  to  light  his  pipe  or  to  speak  to 
a  passerby  he  must  run  to  catch  up  with 
his  comrades.  It  is  hot,  and  his  flask  is 
empty!  If  only  he  were  free  to  stop  at 
the  public  house  in  the  first  village ! 

Even  I  felt  tired  toward  the  end  of  the 
march  that  morning  and  there  yet  remained 
two  kilometres  to  go.  On  my  left,  only 
two  paces  away,  was  an  inviting  green  slope. 
Free,  I  should  have  thrown  myself  down  on 

63 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

it  with  delight.  One  of  my  men,  nick- 
named "Le  Tunisien,"  was  very  thirsty, 
but  drinking  was  against  the  rule.  During 
the  halt  I  had  to  take  from  his  very  lips  the 
large  glass  of  white  wine  which  a  good 
woman  had  brought  him.  It  is  sad  to  find 
such  obstacles  in  the  way  of  our  liberty,  but 
we  must  accustom  ourselves  to  them.  At 
the  end  of  the  morning  the  men  of  them- 
selves fell  into  the  rhythmic  march  step  and 
when  we  returned  all  felt  happy.  If  we 
had  straggled  like  a  flock  of  sheep  we  would 
have  come  back  cross  and  worn  out. 

Must  we  then  praise  servitude  and  despise 
all  liberties?  We  must  give  authority  and 
hierarchy,  in  turn,  our  unfailing  devotion 
and  accept  with  philosophy  some  hard  con- 
straints. But  even  under  discipline  one  can 
— and  ought  to — preserve  the  sense  of  free- 
dom. 

In  the  field  we  feel  acutely  the  value  of 
obedience.  We  know  that  we  shall  liberate 
France  by  our  zeal  in  serving  her.  Never- 
theless, I  have  never  loved  true  liberty  more 
then  here.  It  is  because  we  have  detached 
ourselves  from  our  accustomed  ties.  Not 
only  have  we  broken  away  from  those  we 
hold  most  dear  but,  since  the  second  of 

64 


LIBERTY 

August,  1914,  many  of  us  have  irretrievably 
made  the  sacrifice  of  our  lives.  We  can 
not  submit  to  questionable  restraints  after 
having  freed  ourselves  in  this  manner  from 
those  which  legitimately  dominate  the  com- 
munity of  mankind. 

Servility  is  rare  now,  although  it  used  to 
be  common  in  peace  time.  Certain  officers 
were  spoken  of  by  their  comrades  as  be- 
ing frousse.  That  word  defined  a  defect 
of  which  I  have  found  no  trace  here.  It 
consisted  of  betraying  agitation  in  front 
of  one's  chiefs  and  in  fearing  to  assume 
responsibilities.  A  soldier  who  degrades 
himself  in  this  manner  is  not  worthy  of  his 
uniform.  He  is  afraid  because  he  mistakes 
the  role  and  the  power  of  those  in  authority 
over  him.  He  is  thinking  of  his  advance- 
ment, of  various  advantages  to  be  gained 
from  them.  If  instead  he  demands  of  them 
information  and  direction  for  his  service 
he  will  be  a  man  of  worth  and  a  good  soldier. 
In  addition  he  will  have  the  pride  of  owing 
the  success  of  his  career  to  his  own  personal 
merit.  I  do  not  obey  my  superior  officers 
in  order  to  gain  profits  by  my  meek  obedience 
but  because  it  is  my  law.  It  is  quite  natural 
for  a  man  whose  life  is  at  stake  to  serve  well. 

65 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

This  determines  my  actions;  and,  beyond 
my  obligations  as  a  soldier  and  the  respect 
which  I  owe  to  those  of  superior  rank,  I  do 
not  accept  here  the  orders  of  any  master. 

After  the  war  I  think  the  French  will 
accustom  themselves  to  this  reasonable 
conception  of  individual  liberty.  Nine  of 
our  departements  are  paying  now  with 
hardest  slavery  for  the  liberties  which  we 
have  been  taking  for  the  last  forty  years 
with  the  power  of  our  nation.  Let  us  first 
free  our  France  from  servitude  to  Germany; 
we  can  then  devote  ourselves  to  our  duties 
toward  France  alone.  Thus  shall  we  become 
free  citizens  without  knowing  it. 


66 


COMRADES  IN  ARMS 


ir 

Comrades  in 

A  THE  outset  of  the  war  I  received 
a  charming  letter  from  a  friend  who 
had  just  been  promoted  to  the  rank 
of  sub-lieutenant.     He  wrote  thus : 

MY  OLD  FRIEND: 

Here  I  am  transformed  into  an  officer.  Since 
this  morning  I  have  worn  the  cap,  sword,  and  gloves 
of  a  sub-lieutenant  and  one  little  stripe  on  each 
sleeve.  The  troops  salute  me  and  the  sentinels 
present  arms.  You  can  conceive  my  emotion;  not 
to  mention  a  little  thrill  of  conceit.  I  am  like  other 
men,  a  little  foolish  at  times,  and  even  at  my  age 
one  feels  a  childish  joy  in  seeing  that  one's  costume 
is  being  admired.  I  blushed  when,  in  the  distance, 
I  saw  the  first  soldier  who  was  going  to  salute  me. 
I  noticed  that  he  threw  away  his  cigarette  and 
straightened  a  button  on  his  coat  and  I  thought: 
"He  is  going  to  salute  me!"  It  happened  as  I 
expected.  He  made  a  great  bow,  looking  me  straight 
in  the  eyes,  just  as  if  I  had  always  been  an  officer! 
I  answered  him  graciously;  I  was  so  pleased! 

67 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

After  him  many  passed  who  were  just  as  nice. 
Nearly  all  of  them  put  a  fine  conviction  in  their 
gesture.  Do  the  soldiers  of  other  nations  have  an 
appearance  as  frank  when  they  salute?  My  heart 
would  not  be  in  the  right  place  if  I  did  not  love  these 
men.  The  salute  is  a  sign  of  respect,  a  thing  which 
to-day  exists  almost  nowhere  but  in  the  army. 
Nothing  elevates  a  man  as  much  as  the  feeling  that 
he  is  respected.  In  the  salutes  of  these  soldiers  I 
also  see  a  confidence  which  is  touching.  Naturally 
I  desire  to  justify  this  confidence  and  I  want  to  be 
worthy  of  commanding  those  who  entrust  themselves 
to  me  in  this  manner. 

Yes,  the  soldiers  do  trust  themselves 
to  their  chiefs.  A  week  ago  at  the  camp 
the  colonel  suddenly  called  all  the  officers 
together.  There  was  great  excitement :  the 
trenches  were  to  be  carried  five  hundred 
metres  forward.  The  two  companies  who 
were  at  rest  had  to  return  to  the  front, 
in  an  hour,  to  participate  in  the  operation. 
It  was  one  which  might  cost  us  dear,  and 
the  men,  as  soon  as  they  were  told  of  it, 
equipped  themselves  silently.  There  was 
the  inevitable  confusion  of  the  first  few 
minutes.  As  we  walked  about  the  streets 
the  faces  of  the  men  were  all  turned  toward 
ours.  From  every  side  eyes  were  trying 
to  pierce  the  depths  of  our  minds.  They 

68 


COMRADES  IN  ARMS 

wanted  to  know  what  the  officers  were 
thinking,  what  they  were  hiding  in  their 
souls.  With  anxious  eyes  they  gave  them- 
selves into  our  keeping,  but  also  seemed 
to  implore:  "You  are  coming  with  us, 
aren't  you  ?  You  are  the  leaders.  You  can 
count  on  us,  but  we  also  count  on  you!" 
Like  my  recently  promoted  comrade,  who 
so  deeply  appreciated  the  salutes  to  his  new 
rank,  I  looked  affectionately  at  those  im- 
ploring eyes. 

We  do  not  know  exactly  the  relations 
between  the  men  and  the  officers  in  the 
German  army.  In  France  the  finest  fra- 
ternity exists  among  all  those  who  wear 
the  uniform.  There  has  been  some  discus- 
sion as  to  whether  the  officers  were  right 
in  using  toward  the  men  the  familiar  form 
of  speech — tu  (thou)  instead  of  vous  (you). 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  an  almost  general 
practice  at  present. 

From  the  officer's  standpoint  I  can  see  the 
need  of  establishing  that  familiarity.  At 
the  barracks,  in  peace  time,  the  men  always 
use  the  tu  among  themselves.  It  seems 
natural:  they  are  of  the  same  age  and 
all  young.  At  the  war  it  is  more  re- 
markable that  they  do  this  because  one 

69 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

finds  a  youngster  of  the  class  "17"  in 
the  ranks  beside  an  old,  wrinkled,  stooping 
man  of  the  class  1891.  However,  they  live 
together  like  brothers,  and  if  one  were 
addressed  as  vous,  he  would  not  like  it.  We 
are  naturally  tempted  to  use  their  own 
language  in  speaking  to  these  simple  people 
whose  existence  we  share.  One  does  not 
use  the  familiar  form  of  speech  among  the 
officers,  save  among  comrades  of  the  active 
army  who  have  been  promoted  together. 
To  me  it  seems  very  simple.  Among  soldiers 
one  says  tu;  I  am  a  soldier,  therefore  I  use  it ; 
it  comes  easily. 

But  the  men  say  vous  to  me  and  find  it 
natural  to  address  me  with  respect.  It  only 
remains  to  ask  whether  they  mind  my  treat- 
ing them  familiarly?  Most  assuredly  not. 
Why?  Because  at  the  front  the  relations 
between  men  have  suddenly  become  natural 
and  simple.  In  peace  time,  a  civilian  chief 
must  observe  all  the  formalities  with  his 
touchy  subordinates.  He  says  vous  to 
these  gentlemen  who  sometimes  hate  him. 
Here  everyone  sees  in  the  officer  a  master 
in  the  full  sense  of  the  word — that  is  to  say, 
the  man  who  commands  and  protects. 
The  military  chief  is  the  father:  the  men 

70 


accept  his  authority  hand  in  hand  with  his 
affection.  The  familiar  form  of  speech 
does  not  shock  them,  it  comforts  them. 

If  you  want  to  know  what  conception 
they  have  of  their  duty  toward  their  officers, 
hear  this  sentence  pronounced  one  evening 
by  an  intoxicated  man,  who  thought  he  had 
been  badly  used  by  his  captain:  "If  he 
falls  in  the  beet  fields  I  won't  be  the  one  to 
go  and  get  him/'  The  poor  fellow  was 
very  angry  and  had  thought  of  the  worst 
punishment  a  soldier  could  inflict  on  his 
captain — to  leave  him  wounded  on  the 
battlefield.  It  is  certainly  true  that  in  the 
fray  each  man  considers  himself  the  New- 
foundland dog  of  his  chief.  The  officer  who 
does  his  duty  toward  his  soldiers  knows 
perfectly  well  that,  should  an  injury  befall 
him,  each  one  of  them  will  be  ready  to 
carry  him  on  his  shoulders  or  in  his  arms 
at  the  peril  of  his  life.  Can  there  be  any 
objection  to  treating  these  children,  who 
are  devoted  even  unto  death,  like  our  own 
sons? 

The  other  day  my  orderly  was  astonished 
at  a  command  I  gave  him.  The  good  fellow 
thought  it  was  not  serious  and  said  with  a 
large  smile:  "My  lieutenant  is  joking!" 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

I  found  these  words  charming  because 
they  implied  so  much.  First  there  is  the 
sense  of  respect:  I  had  never  told  him  to 
address  me  in  the  third  person.  It  came 
as  naturally  to  him  as  using  the  familiar 
form  came  to  me.  Nothing  would  induce 
him  to  deviate  from  the  custom.  When 
the  orderlies  are  talking  together  one  will 
say: 

"My  lieutenant  is  calling  you." 
"Which  one — yours  or  mine?" 

"Not  mine;  it  is  my  Lieutenant  M " 

That  "my"  is  intangible  and  part  of  the 
title.  In  my  orderly's  answer  there  were: 
the  third  person,  to  indicate  respect;  the 
possessive,  to  indicate  affection;  and  the 
word  "joking,"  to  indicate  the  joy  of  being 
comrades  in  arms. 

Brothers  in  arms!  For  many  years 
people  have  told  us  that  all  men  were 
brothers.  It  has  even  been  engraved  in 
the  motto:  "Liberte,  £galite,  Fraternite" 
on  the  walls  of  all  our  public  buildings. 
The  Germans  have  shown  us  what  it  is 
worth.  Of  the  French  fraternity,  on  the 
other  hand,  before  the  war  we  knew  but 
little.  I  would  like  to  make  you  understand 
how  great  is  the  friendship  we  feel  for  these 

72 


COMRADES  IN  ARMS 

soldiers  amongst  whom  we  live,  sharing  the 
same  emotions  and  the  same  dangers. 

One  night  the  cooks,  who  always  know 
everything,  announced  that  a  battery  of 
75-millimeter  guns  was  coming  up  to  our 

lines  to  knock  down  the  chimney  of  H 

which  was  situated  a  few  miles  ahead  of  us. 
It  was  a  very  tall  factory  chimney  which 
dominated  the  entire  plain.  We  knew 
that  the  Germans  used  it  as  an  observation 
post  from  which  they  could  spy  on  our 
slightest  movements  not  only  as  far  as  our 
third  line  but  clear  back  to  our  positions  of 
retreat.  They  had  installed  in  it  good 
optical  instruments  of  which  they  were 
very  proud;  in  fact,  they  would  expend 
several  shells  on  a  single  man  taking  exer- 
cise at  the  rear;  not  for  the  profit  they  got 
from  it,  but  just  to  astonish  us. 

That  night  it  was  my  turn  on  guard. 
The  next  day  at  the  early  hour  selected 
by  the  artillery  for  the  bombardment,  I  was 
resting  four  metres  below  ground.  I  shall 
always  remember  that  horrible,  propped-up 
cave:  at  my  feet  was  the  lamentable  com- 
forter, formerly  red,  that  for  months  we  had 
been  dragging  from  trench  to  trench.  At  the 
back  on  a  table  rudely  made  from  the  re- 

73 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

mains  of  a  door  stood  our  smoky  lamp; 
hanging  to  the  wall  our  glasses,  our  revol- 
vers, a  package  of  grenade  fuses,  innumera- 
ble cans,  periscopes,  masks  against  asphyx- 
iating gas,  and  bulging  knapsacks.  Above 
the  table  on  a  small  plank  stood  our  bread 
loaves,  bottles,  and  goblets.  The  lamp 
flickered  and  gave  an  awful  odour.  My  bed 
was  not  too  comfortable — very  little  straw  on 
the  hard  earth — my  pillow,  a  bag  filled  with 
sand.  But  I  was  sleeping  soundly  when  a 
shout  suddenly  awakened  me. 

"My  Lieutenant,  they  are  going  to  hit  it 
on  the  head." 

"What  is  it?" 

"The  chimney." 

"All  right,  let  me  sleep." 

I  was  just  dozing  off  again  when  a  sharp 
report  shook  my  cave,  the  sound  of  a  de- 
parting "75"  shell.  Nothing  for  seven  or 
eight  seconds,  then  a  distant  thunder  and 
almost  at  once  a  rapid  crackling  sound  which 
astonished  me.  I  sat  up!  Was  it  a  volley ? 
Then  the  silence  once  more.  I  shall  never 
forget  what  I  felt  then.  The  outside  noises 
reached  me  muffled,  and  I  marvelled  at  being 
alone  with  my  thoughts  when  the  excitement 
was  so  great  only  a  few  steps  away.  The 

74 


COMRADES  IN  ARMS 

crackling  sound  which  had  alarmed  me  was 
caused  by  the  clapping  of  many  hands,  as 
at  a  theatre.  Later,  I  congratulated  myself 
at  having  stayed  lazily  in  my  hole,  for  I  had 
the  best  place  from  which  to  witness  the 
bombardment  of  the  chimney.  Even  now 
I  can  close  my  eyes  and  see  it  all  clearly. 
Anyone  can  imagine  a  chimney  which  is 
beginning  to  totter.  Shells  explode  around 
it,  then  pierce  it,  raising  a  cloud  of  brick- 
coloured  dust.  Suddenly  it  bends,  breaks 
in  three  pieces,  and  crumbles  to  the  ground. 
But  imagine  the  soldiers  clapping  hands  at 
each  successful  shell.  I  could  hear  the 
rattle  of  their  applause  and  it  stabbed  my 
heart.  In  the  profound  silence  that  fol- 
lowed, I  thought  of  all  those  Frenchmen, 
crazy  with  joy,  while  we  were  destroying 
one  of  our  own  factories.  My  orderly 
remarked : 

"I  wonder  whether  the  Boche  stayed  up 
there." 

An  Alsatian  prisoner  asserted  a  few  days 
later  that  an  observing  officer  had  indeed 
been  surprised  by  the  bombardment  and 
had  come  down  with  the  chimney.  In  any 
case,  that  remark  of  my  orderly  stirred  my 
imagination  on  the  subject,  and  I  pictured 

75 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

to  myself  the  horrible  agony  of  the  German 
at  the  top  of  his  tower. 

The  reports  of  the  guns  continued  one 
after  the  other.  The  men  now  no  longer 
clapped.  They  probably  were  as  anxiously 
expectant  as  I.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if 
a  direct  communication  had  been  estab- 
lished between  their  souls  and  mine,  and  it 
was  a  real  comfort  for  me  to  feel,  even  with 
my  eyes  shut,  the  same  impressions  that 
were  moving  them.  Suddenly  I  heard  a 
shriek  like  that  of  a  band  of  schoolboys 
running  put  for  the  hour  of  recreation.  All 
those  big  children  of  mine  were  crying 
victory!  Ah,  the  dear  fellows !  How  clear, 
how  young,  how  charming  their  voices 
sounded  in  that  delirious  moment.  It  was 
better  not  to  be  too  close.  Near  by  I  should 
probably  have  heard  some  objectionable 
remarks.  They  said: 

' '  B  ra vo !  H  u  r rah !  Five  la  France ! ' ' 
But  they  doubtless  used  many  less  heroic 
words  and  applied  to  the  Boches  names 
much  more  vulgar.  What  matter?  The 
important  thing  is  to  know  how  to  extract 
the  most  from  certain  moments.  I  real- 
ized during  that  one  that  we  were  really 
brothers.  That  is  to  say,  the  young  and 

76 


COMRADES  IN  ARMS 

care-free  sons  of  a  mother  for  the  love  of 
whom  this  cry  of  triumph  was  uttered. 
What,  after  all,  are  we  in  contrast  to  the 
Motherland?  The  candid  accents  of  their 
acclamations  put  these  men  and  myself  in 
our  true  place,  a  very  humble  one.  Poor, 
insignificant  soldiers  of  an  immortal  France, 
in  going  through  this  simple  emotion  to- 
gether we  learned  how  to  unite  our  lowly 
hearts  and  love  one  another. 

Really,  it  is  not  difficult  to  fraternize 
with  a  crowd  of  soldiers.  As  a  class,  the 
common  people  are  easy-going.  When  one 
leaves  them  in  their  proper  place  and  does 
not  ask  them  to  think  or  feel  beyond  their 
possibilities,  they  are  naturally  docile  and 
confident.  The  wonderful  thing  is  the 
harmony  among  the  officers.  Although  of 
extremely  varied  types  they  live  in  a  very 
close  intimacy.  So  many  things  might 
sever  these  ties:  race,  education,  religion, 
fortune,  age,  or  character.  Before  the 
enemy,  the  differences  efface  themselves. 
There  remain  only  honest  people,  clinging 
to  one  another. 

At  camp  one  day  the  sudden  arrival  of  a 
new  regiment  was  announced.  We  ran 
to  the  doors  to  see  them  march  by.  I  must 

77 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

own  that  at  the  front,  where  the  distractions 
are  not  numerous,  one  is  prone  to  become  a 
spectator.  When  soldiers  go  by  we  stand 
in  a  row,  looking  with  staring  eyes. 

When  these  warriors  had  stacked  arms 
and  broken  ranks,  two  officers  detached 
themselves  from  the  group  and  entered  the 
house  whose  doorway  we  filled.  They  in- 
quired of  our  orderlies : 

"Can  we  have  dinner  here?" 
"  But,  sir,  the  place  is  already  taken." 
"All  the  more  reason.     We'll  make  ar- 
rangements with  our  colleagues.    We  will 
pay,  you  know." 

I  came  forward.  The  officer  who  had 
spoken  planted  himself  in  front  of  me. 
He  was  a  little  man  with  a  tanned  face 
worn  by  hard  work.  Poised  on  the  side 
of  his  head  was  a  battered  cap  which  he 
shifted  with  each  sentence,  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  find  the  funniest  way  of  crowning 
his  mischievous  forehead.  His  short  lees 
were  tucked  into  extraordinarily  wide 
breeches.  He  had  straight  blue  eyes  and 
the  truest  accent  of  the  Paris  Faubourgs. 
"Dear  Monsieur,  I  introduce  myself: 

Lieutenant  B .     I  am  a  reserve  officer.- 

I  work  in  a  grocery  store.     And  you?" 

78 


COMRADES  IN  ARMS 

"I  am  Lieutenant  R ." 

"Aren't  we  going  to  mess  together?*' 

My  comrades  had  gathered  around  him 
in  a  circle  and  we  were  beginning  to  enjoy 
the  situation  immensely.  We  quickly  came 
to  terms  and  the  orderlies  got  ready  to  lay 
the  table. 

"By  the  way,"  said  I.  "How  many  are 
you?  Two?" 

"  No,  indeed,  my  friend !  Say  eight,  unless 

that  wretch  G again  plays  us  the  trick 

of  not  coming." 

He  then  proceeded  to  explain  that  G 

was  the  adjudant,  a  good  soul,  but  mad 
about  the  service,  and  who  would  much 
rather  give  up  his  lunch  than  overlook  the 
smallest  of  his  duties. 

An  adjudant!  All  right!  We  sat  down. 
The  jovial  grocer  took  the  best  place,  tucked 
at  least  half  of  his  napkin  in  his  collar,  put 
his  two  hands  on  his  short  hips,  looked 
at  us  with  eyes  full  of  fun,  and  lifting  his 
tiny  cap,  loudly  proclaimed  that  he  was 
from  Menilmontant. 

At  first  this  phenomenal  creature  had 
frightened  me,  but  he  seemed  so  happy  at 
being  an  officer,  privileged  to  fight  bravely, 
eat  gluttonously,  and  drink  good  wine  with 

79 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

comrades  or  colleagues,  as  he  called  them, 
that  his  joy  little  by  little  won  us  over. 
What  ceased  to  be  funny  was  the  adjudant' s 
empty  place.  I  really  feared  his  entrance, 
even  more  so  since  his  lieutenant  constantly 
repeated : 

"Oh,  what  a  character!" 

My  fears  were  increased  by  the  fact  that 
the  other  lieutenant,  whom  I  disliked,  pro- 
fessed great  friendship  for  the  absentee.  He 
had  introduced  himself  rather  ceremoniously. 
Profession:  schoolmaster  in  a  village  in  the 
Departement  of  La  Loire,  and  secretary 
to  the  Mayor.  I  know  the  community:  it 
is  the  most  revolutionary  one  in  the  whole 
region.  Its  mayor  is  a  redoubtable  radical 
socialist,  a  terrible  man,  and  in  front  of  me 
was  seated  his  intimate  collaborator.  We 
talked  and  I  was  surprised  to  find  him  an 
amiable  fellow,  not  lacking  in  poise,  entirely 
absorbed  in  the  beautiful  profession  of 
soldiering.  But  what  would  his  friend,  the 
adjudant  be  like  ? 

"Here  he  is!" 

The  exclamation  was  uttered  by  the 
grocer.  The  whole  band  got  up  to  greet 
him,  waving  their  napkins.  [Enter  the 
adjudant.] 

80 


COMRADES  IN  ARMS 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen." 

"Well,"  whispered  one  of  my  comrades. 
"  Here  is  another  one  who  takes  life  merrily." 

His  place  was  next  to  me.  I  looked  at 
him:  closely  cropped  head,  ordinary  soldier's 
appearance. 

He  sat  down,  laid  his  napkin  on  his  lap, 
began  to  eat  slowly  in  silence. 
A  simpleton,"  I  thought. 

However,  it  is  necessary  to  treat  one's 
guests  with  courtesy,  so  I  emptied  the  rest 
of  the  wine  bottle  in  a  glass,  murmuring  to 
put  myself  on  a  level  with  them: 

:<  You  will  be  married  within  the  year." 

"No,  I  won't,  for  the  good  reason  that  I 
am  an  Abbe." 

"The  truth  is  out,"  said  the  man  from 
Menilmontant,  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table. 

Why,  yes,  the  truth  was  out.  I  own  that 
I  foresaw  nothing  of  the  sort. 

My  neighbour  added,  in  a  whisper: 

"And  you  know  of  me,  I  am  the  Abbe 
G .  Vicar  of  N ." 

He  named  one  of  the  most  intelligent  and 
active  priests  of  our  times,  a  sort  of  an 
apostle,  very  young  and  already  famous.  I 
then  looked  at  him  attentively  and  discov- 

81 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

ered  a  beautiful,  strong-willed,  clean-cut  jaw; 
a  fine  mouth,  and  piercing  eyes,  deep  set 
under  a  calm  forehead. 

The  others,  the  Poilus,  were  delighted  at 
our  surprise,  and  they  asked  the  adjudant 
to  relate  why  he  had  been  mentioned  in 
dispatches.  They  had  to  insist,  but  with 
those  rogues  one  had  to  give  in  or  produce  a 
good  reason  for  not  doing  so.  He  finally 
explained  that  there  had  been  no  one  willing 
to  go  and  bring  in  a  man  who  had  fallen 
wounded  in  front  of  the  enemy  lines.  He 
himself  crawled  rapidly  out  toward  him, 
hoping  to  be  able  to  give  the  poor  fellow 
the  extreme  unction,  and  ran  right  into 
the  midst  of  a  German  patrol.  He  was 
alone,  unarmed.  The  officer,  a  Bavarian, 
held  a  revolver  to  his  head.  The  Abbe 
then  looked  him  well  in  the  face  and  said: 

"  You  surely  wouldn't  think  of  killing  me 
lying  down.  Wait  till  I  get  up." 

The  other  thought  the  Frenchman  was 
calling  a  troop  to  his  rescue  and,  taken  with 
panic,  ran  away  with  his  men. 

What  impressed  me  most  during  that 
story  was  the  sight  of  the  joyful  eyes  and 
visible  admiration  of  the  anti-clerical  school- 
master— I  met  the  latter  the  next  morning. 

9* 


COMRADES  IN  ARMS 

We  talked  over  his  troublesome  community, 
his  mayor,  and  his  politics  before  the  war. 

"Pooh,'*  said  he;  "we  will  look  after 
that  when  we  come  back.  In  the  meantime, 
I  have  had  a  beautiful  sleep." 

"Where?" 

"Across  the  street.  The  sheets  were  clean, 
the  bed  good  but  not  very  wide." 

"What  do  you  mean?  I  know  that  bed. 
It  is  a  double  bed." 

"That's  just  it,  there  are  two  of  us." 

"Whom  did  you  sleep  with?" 

"With  no  other  than  the  Abbe." 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 


glory 

A  QUEER  silence  reigns  over  the 
fields  where  we  are  entrenched !  Cer- 
tainly the  guns  are  often  noisy 
and  the  whistle  of  the  shells  is  in  our  ears, 
but  no  bells  sound  from  the  neighbouring 
churches;  there  are  no  more  roosters  crowing 
in  the  farmyards,  no  more  dogs  to  make  the 
echoes  ring  with  their  barking,  no  more  whips 
cracking  gaily.  I  have  often  had  here 
the  impression  of  being  far  out  at  sea. 
Our  dugout  is  narrow  and  low  like  a  cabin. 
The  thunder  of  the  artillery  resembles  the 
sound  of  the  waves  in  a  storm.  When  a  bomb 
bursts  in  our  sector  the  earthen  vaults 
vibrate  like  the  hull  of  a  ship.  If  we  go  out 
at  night  to  stand  guard  in  the  firing 
trench  or  at  the  listening  post,  it  seems  as  if 
we  were  going  on  the  captain's  bridge 
and  like  sailors  we  fix  our  eyes  on  the  black 

84 


GLORY 

horizon.  This  impression  is  chiefly  caused 
by  the  fact  that  the  plain  is  dead  like  the 
ocean.  Hearing  is  perhaps  the  most  acute 
of  our  senses.  All  the  familiar  noises  which 
usually  come  through  the  air  in  the  fields  are 
absent  from  here,  and  the  earth  seems  to 
me  cold  and  hostile  like  a  stretch  of  salt 
water. 

And  yet  our  men  are  gay  and  dream 
beautiful  dreams  in  their  gloomy  holes. 
Yesterday,  when  one  of  them  was  looking 
depressed,  an  officer  passed. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  old  man?*' 

"My  home." 

"You  will  see  it  again,  sir,  all  right." 

"Ah!  I  am  not  so  sure,  but  when  one 
worries  one  reads  the  citations*:  it  cheers 
you  up!'* 

Can  that  man  who  always  seemed  an 
amateur  soldier  be  interested  in  heroes  and 
would  he  really  like  to  become  one  himself? 
Is  it  possible?  But  better  things  still  are 
happening.  We  have  in  the  company  a 
particularly  uncouth  individual.  He  always 
has  a  dirty  face  and  his  clothes  are  never  more 
than  half  fastened.  He  is  short  legged  like 
a  bull  terrier  and  as  ugly  as  sin.  During  the 

*Mentions  in  Dispatches. 

8S 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

past  month  every  day  at  twilight  he  would 
stride  over  the  trench  and  go,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  and  a  shovel  under 
his  arm,  toward  the  enemy 's  lines.  Many 
German  corpses  were  lying  out  there.  At 
each  journey  he  would  bury  several  and 
come  back  swearing  against  these  mis- 
creants who  leave  their  dead  unburied  in 
the  beet  fields.  We  gave  him  a  little 
brandy  as  a  reward.  Perhaps  you  think 
we  were  rid  of  him  after  that  ?  I  thought  so, 
too.  But  yesterday,  while  we  were  talking 
about  a  soldier  who,  for  his  gallantry,  had 
been  mentioned  in  dispatches  he  passed  by 
grumbling  and  I  heard  him  mumble: 

"I  guess  it  ought  to  be  my  turn  to  be 
cited!" 

The  grave-digger,  too,  was  working  to 
be  admired  and  wanted  to  read  his  name 
among  those  of  the  heroes ! 

That  incident  made  me  ponder,  and  at 
night  I  meditated  on  glory,  while,  opposite, 
the  enemy  was  firing  spasmodically. 

What  is  glory?  It  is  the  more  radiant 
light  of  one  being  outshining  that  of  others. 
One  can  perform  a  noble  action  and  keep 
it  secret,  but  it  needs  the  help  of  the  crowd 
to  make  it  a  glorious  one.  A  hero  judges 

86 


GLORY 

the  degree  of  his  glory  by  the  number  of 
those  who  pay  him  tribute. 

And  that  is  why  glory  is  at  the  same  time 
so  beautiful  and  so  fruitless. 

There  exists  a  popular  proverb  which 
neglects  glory:  "Do  right  and  never  mind 
what  people  say. "  Which  means  that  our 
acts  are  of  some  value  in  themselves, 
independent  of  the  judgment  of  men. 
It  is  a  sage  opinion,  but  a  proud  and 
contemptuous  one.  Should  I  then  be  sole 
judge  of  what  is  right  or  wrong?  Haven't 
the  men  who  are  made  in  God's  image 
souls  as  capable  as  mine  of  being  moved  by 
beauty?  For  my  part,  I  think  a  great  deal 
of  my  fellow  creatures'  opinions.  I  per- 
ceive, however,  that  the  stupidity  of  the 
masses  constitutes  a  peril  which  in  its 
turn  may  encourage  men  to  play  to  the 
gallery  only.  But  honour  to  those  who  win 
the  love  of  simple  hearts!  Confronted  by 
eminent  goodness  or  striking  genius,  all  souls 
become  simple,  and  admiration  is  glory.  I 
pity  the  man  who  does  not  accept  the  hom- 
age of  a  sincere  crowd  as  a  divine  caress. 

However,  we  must  have  other  responsibili- 
ties if  we  want  the  war  in  which  we  are  en- 
gaged to  bear  its  fruit.  First,  we  must  go  to 

8? 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

it  gravely.  The  Saint-Cyriens  who  went  to 
the  assault  in  their  white  gloves  had  the 
enviable  role  of  writing  the  most  moving 
and  most  noble  page  of  the  first  part  of 
the  epic.  We  must  write  the  others  with  a 
bold  hand. 

The  other  day  at  the  camp  our  captain 
told  us  to  talk  to  the  men  on  some  moral 
theme.  We  did  it,  on  the  duties  of  the 
father  of  a  family  in  the  war.  I  explained 
to  the  good  fellows  who  sat  around  me  that 
the  more  children  one  had  the  more  ardour 
one  ought  to  put  in  fighting.  The  loss  of  a 
bachelor  is  more  fatal  to  the  motherland  than 
that  of  the  head  of  a  family  because  the  first 
dies  altogether,  whereas  the  latter  leaves  chil- 
dren who  carry  on  his  work.  Also  a  father 
knows  better  than  any  other  why  he  is  fight- 
ing. He  defends  his  own  home  along  with  the 
other  homes  of  his  country.  Really  among 
the  men  around  me,  the  best  soldiers  are 
those  who  have  left  at  home  four  or  five 
children  whose  pictures  they  show  with  emo- 
tion to  everyone. 

Glory,  in  the  eyes  of  these  people,  is  a 
fantasy.  In  mine  it  has  a  worse  fault:  it 
tempts  people,  in  a  materialistic  age,  to 
capitalize  their  virtues. 

88 


GLORY 

Glory  is  fame  with  a  hundred  tongues, 
the  "fama"  of  ancient  Rome.  Before  the 
war  one  acquired  fame  by  publicity  instead 
of  heroism.  Men  were  classed  according  to 
their  wealth  and  therefore  everyone  sought 
riches.  With  that  aim,  one  needed  to  be 
popular  and  sought  after.  By  certain  means 
it  is  possible  to  commercialize  one's  fame 
and  thus  win  fortune,  but  it  involves 
heavy  payment.  In  the  world  of  scientists, 
artists,  and  writers,  one  also  gains  riches  by 
parading  and  advertising  one's  merits,  by 
blowing  one's  own  trumpet.  Advertisement 
is  the  plague  of  the  century.  That  which  re- 
quires great  effort  and  preparation  on  the 
part  of  a  notoriety  seeker  can  be  won  in 
one  day  by  a  hero  with  a  single  fortunate 
gesture.  A  good  thrust  of  the  sword  is 
therefore  worth  more  than  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  of  newspaper  advertis- 
ing. 

I  would  feel  ashamed  of  having  dared  to 
advance  this  comparison  between  glory  and 
advertisement,  but  after  the  war  we  will  go 
back  to  our  cities  with  regenerated  souls, 
which  we  must  try  to  keep  from  every  stain. 
Let  us  beware  of  ever  making  unworthy  use 
of  our  great  experiences. 

89 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

Glory  is  a  precious  but  heavy  burden. 
When  one  has  gained,  by  a  heroic  action  or  by 
a  great  achievement,  the  regard  and  the  love 
of  men,  one  belongs  to  the  crowd — and  the 
crowd  is  exacting.  It  is  never  satiated  with 
glory  and  wants  the  hero  to  remain  eternally 
worthy  of  its  homage.  For  most  soldiers 
this  is  easy.  They  die  and  their  remem- 
brance remains  thenceforth  unchangeable; 
if  they  live  they  cease  after  the  war  to  oc- 
cupy the  public  mind. 

But  I  am  sorry  for  those  who,  having 
once  won  renown,  must  devote  themselves 
unceasingly  to  its  propagation.  It  does  not 
only  require  noble  effort,  it  is  not  enough 
to  give  people  fresh  cause  for  admiration: 
one  must  guard  oneself  from  the  thousand 
pitfalls  of  popularity,  answer  all  the  ac- 
clamations with  smiles,  and  evade  a  quan- 
tity of  stupid  invitations.  One  becomes  the 
guardian  of  one's  glory:  one  appraises  it 
sometimes  stingily,  sometimes  more  gen- 
erously; one  spends  one's  life  in  petty 
bargaining.  For  my  part  I  know  few  things 
more  disappointing  than  to  see  some  of  these 
great  men,  hesitating  between  the  fear  of  see- 
ing their  name  unjustly  forgotten,  and  their 
disgust  for  the  unworthy  contrivances  to 

90 


GLORY 

which  they  must  resort  in  order  to  maintain 
it  in  its  rightful  place.  If,  as  I  believe,  it  is 
only  simplicity  of  heart  which  allows  one 
to  taste  true  happiness,  those  upon  whom 
Glory  has  smiled  run  the  risk  of  never 
again  being  perfectly  happy. 

Must  we  then  fear  glory  or  disdain  it  ?  I 
think  we  must  love  it,  not  for  the  enjoyment 
it  brings  us,  but  for  the  sake  of  mankind, 
to  whom  noble  examples  and  inspiring 
spectacles  are  beneficial. 

We  have  just  had,  here,  an  example  of 
this.  One  of  our  young  comrades  a  few  days 
ago  made  a  fortunate  stroke.  •  The  general 
commanding  the  army  had  issued  an  order 
to  capture  at  any  cost  and  send  to  him  a 
prisoner.  Our  friend  was  put  in  charge  of 
the  little  expedition.  He  left  with  a  few 
men  and  captured  a  German  post,  the  chief 
occupant  of  which  he  killed.  He  came  back 
after  a  short  but  very  bloody  struggle  and 
brought  with  him  a  good-looking  lad  with 
great,  startled  blue  eyes.  There  is  not  always 
great  merit  in  taking  a  prisoner,  but  when 
one  does  it  in  this  manner,  by  command, 
and  goes  out  to  get  him  in  the  trench  op- 
posite, not  at  one's  chosen  hour,  but  at  the 
one  arbitrarily  fixed  by  the  commandant, 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

the  operation  deserves  praise,  and  our  friend 
is  to  be  cited  among  the  brave. 

The  next  day  we  were  discussing,  among 
ourselves,  with  much  vivacity,  the  way  in 
which  he  had  conducted  the  operation. 

Having  found  an  unoccupied  section  of 
German  trench,  he  had  placed  there  the 
main  part  of  his  patrol,  and  had  gone  for- 
ward himself  toward  the  neighbouring 
trench,  accompanied  by  only  one  man.  We 
wanted  to  determine  whether  he  had  acted 
wisely  in  exposing  himself  thus.  Some 
praised  him  for  it,  others  thought  that  in 
his  boldness  he  had  overstepped  his  duties 
as  chief  and  had  thus  endangered  the  safety 
of  his  entire  party. 

We  were  getting  somewhat  excited  when 
one  of  us  wisely  interrupted : 

"My  friends,  let  us  argue  no  more.  We 
are  much  excited,  and  there  is  but  one  con- 
clusion from  our  useless  discussion.  If  we 
are  excited  it  is  because  we  all  secretly  envy 
a  happier  comrade.  Moreover,  his  action 
was  very  creditable  to  him,  as  well  as  to  us. 
It  proves  that  he  has  been  a  hero  and  that 
we  all  ardently  desire  to  find  an  occasion  to 
imitate  him  soon." 

Nothing   could   have   been   truer.     Our 

92 


GLORY 

hearts  were  surging  within  us.  Our  jeal- 
ousy was  a  wholesome  incentive  to  heroism ! 
Envy  is  hateful;  it  is  a  base  and  shameful 
sentiment.  If  there  are  men  whose  souls  are 
mean  enough  to  witness  with  spite  the  hon- 
our which  a  brave  man  has  won  we  must 
pity  them.  But  one  can  be  jealous  of  his 
bravery — that  is  to  say,  have  the  acute  desire 
to  equal  him.  Glory  puts  this  ardour  in  the 
soul  and  that  is  why  it  is  often  as  bene- 
ficial to  those  who  seek  it  as  it  is  fatal  to 
those  who  have  won  it. 

In  our  trenches  its  power  is  considerable. 
The  Army  Bulletin  publishes  information, 
songs,  anecdotes,  and,  at  the  end  of  each 
number,  the  names  of  those  cited  in  the 
orders  of  the  day.  Its  editors  could  omit 
all  the  rest  and  leave  only  the  citations.  It 
is  in  order  to  read  them  that  we  all  want 
the  paper.  I  have  seen  some  good  fellows, 
lying  flat  on  the  muddy  straw  of  their 
gourbis,  slowly  reading  every  citation,  word 
by  word,  following  the  lines  with  their 
thick  fingers. 

Have  they  the  ambition  to  be  cited,  too, 
in  their  turn?  There  are  some  who  would 
be  frightened  by  so  much  honour;  they  are 
the  modest  ones.  Others,  fathers  of  fam- 

93 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

ilies,  more  soberly  inclined,  are  only  trying 
to  do  their  duty.  Their  ambition  is  not  to 
see  their  names  in  the  papers,  but  to  kiss 
their  wives  and  children  as  soon  as  peace  is 
signed. 

But  all,  without  exception,  admire  their 
comrades  who  have  been  mentioned.  They 
admire;  that  is  the  chief  thing.  I  love  the 
glory  which  shines  out  from  everywhere 
around  us  in  this  war,  because  of  the  great 
service  it  will  have  rendered  the  French  soul 
in  restoring  the  faculty  of  disinterested 
admiration. 

Thus  the  hearts  of  these  men  who  tramp 
along  with  me  through  the  clay  are  becom- 
ing purified.  They  not  only  learn  to  love 

i  •         ir        i  r       11     •  i 

duty,  itselt,  the  source  or  all  joys,  but  in 
serving  only  their  country  they  exert  them- 
selves to  free  their  souls  from  envy.  They 
had  been  told  that  in  order  to  be  happy 
it  was  necessary  to  make  use  of  all  their 
rights,  and  to  search  for  the  most  di- 
verse pleasures.  It  will  be  possible,  after 
the  war,  to  explain  to  them,  without  being 
scoffed  at,  that  the  best  are  those  who  love 
to  work  and  who,  when  the  day  is  finished, 
return  to  find  their  joys  in  a  home,  simply 
furnished,  but  gay  with  laughter  of  many 

94 


flLORY 

voices.  They  had  been  advised  not  to 
tolerate  superiority  in  others,  that  all 
citizens  were  equal,  and  here,  with  admira- 
tion, they  acknowledge  the  superiority  of 
certain  men  to  others. 

What  will  remain  then  of  the  principles 
on  which  rested  the  corrupt  society  in  which 
we  lived?  Will  it  be  possible,  hereafter,  to 
again  mislead  these  people  with  malicious 
doctrines  and  render  them  egotistical,  dis- 
orderly, and  mean,  in  spite  of  the  inherent 
virtue  of  the  French  race  ? 

As  for  glory,  let  us  love  it  if  we  have  time. 
And  you,  whose  hearts  are  following  us,  do 
not  be  shocked  by  the  statement  that  we 
are  not  fighting  for  the  love  of  the  game. 
We  are  going  to  give  the  Germans  a  lesson, 
and  we  want  our  France  to  come  out  of 
the  trial,  not  only  safe,  but  exalted.  The 
rest  is  only  secondary.  That  is  the  feeling 
in  our  souls.  Dream  of  the  glory  of  those 
you  love,  their  hallowed  swords  and  their 
foreheads  crowned  with  laurels;  nothing 
could  be  better  for  you.  For  us,  however, 
there  is  something  more  positive  in  this 
war. 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 


VI 

J^arks,  Topples, 

WHEN  I  was  a  child  my  parents 
owned  a  bound  collection  of  the 
"  L'Univers  Illustre"  dating  from 
the  beginning  of  the  Second  Empire.  I  used 
to  look  at  the  pictures  and  read  the  captions 
underneath  them.  In  this  way  all  the  peo- 
ple of  rank  at  the  Imperial  Court  were 
visualized  for  me.  I  remember  that  their 
Majesties,  the  Emperor  and  Empress  of 
France,  were  always  making  innumerable 
trips  to  inaugurate  railways  or  to  compli- 
ment certain  cities,  large  and  small.  I  used 
to  study  the  sovereign's  august  beard, 
represented  by  little  undulated  lines,  each 
of  which  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  true  hair 
drawn  after  nature.  Nothing  can  ever  pre- 
vent me  from  coupling  in  my  imagination 
the  forgotten  art  of  wood  engraving  with 
the  period  of  the  majestic  and  comical  hoop 

96 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

skirt — a  fashion  which  I  hear  is  coming 
back.  After  turning  many  pages  I  came 
to  the  war  of  1870,  and  then  to  the  Com- 
mune. I  followed  those  two  tragedies  with 
passionate  interest.  My  eyes  grew  bigger 
when  I  looked  at  the  military  barricades,  and 
I  contemplated  with  terror  the  rough  faces  of 
the  confederate  troops,  the  entreating  or  re- 
signed glances  of  the  hostages,  the  extraor- 
dinary black  blotches,  representing  flames 
on  the  roofs  of  the  Tuileries  or  of  the  Cour 
des  Comptes.  At  the  time  my  mother  was 
playing  Grieg's  Spring  Song  on  the  piano. 
Since  then  I  have  often  heard  it  played  at 
private  or  public  concerts.  Every  time  my 
heart  jumps  as  if  I  were  expecting  to  hear 
the  crackle  of  shots  of  the  Civil  War. 

Like  Grieg's  notes,  which  always  bring  to 
my  ears  the  noise  of  firing,  there  is  a  small 
number  of  people  and  objects  that,  in  the 
trenches,  become  associated  with  different 
senses.  Henceforth,  we  shall  no  longer  be 
able  to  see,  hear,  touch,  or  smell  them  with- 
out thinking  of  the  war,  which,  through 
them,  will  haunt  us  until  death. 

I  have  said  we  can  hear  no  sound  in  the 
fields  where  we  have  dug  our  winter  holes: 
no  bells,  no  dogs,  no  roosters.  Spring  and 

97 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

summer  have  come  without  bringing  back 
any  of  these  sounds.  There  is  a  church  bell 
not  far  away,  but  it  is  shattered  and  on  the 
ground.  The  soldiers  cut  pieces  from  it  and 
convert  them  into  rings,  which  are  more 
popular  than  those  made  of  aluminium. 
There  is  a  dog  quite  near  here.  While  I 
am  writing  he  keeps  watch  from  the  parapet 
of  a  listening  post,  but  he  is  not  allowed 
to  bark.  His  assignment  is  to  scent  the 
enemy,  point  him,  and  keep  quiet.  As  for 
the  roosters,  I  admit  that,  a  few  days  ago,  I 
thought  they  had  come  back.  Some  Hes- 
sian guardsmen,  opposite,  were  awakening 
and  imitating  animal  cries.  The  French 
infantry  answered  with  such  enthusiasm 
that  on  each  side  and  from  trench  to  trench 
the  cock's  crow  might  have  been  heard,  that 
morning,  to  our  left  as  far  as  the  sea;  to  our 
right  as  far  as  Belfort. 

And  yet,  one  day  in  February,  there 
arose  a  voice  from  the  dead  earth.  It  has 
continued  to  sound  ever  since,  at  dawn,  thus 
enchanting  our  solitude.  It  is  the  voice  of 
the  lark. 

Once,  at  daybreak,  while  in  one  of  those 
first  muddy  shelters  that  we  built  so 
crudely,  I  thought  I  heard  the  song  of  a 

98 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

bird.  It  might  have  been  a  man,  whistling 
in  his  cave,  but  the  notes  were  too  pure  and 
fresh,  and  followed  one  another  too  rapidly. 
They  grew  in  volume,  and  little  by  little, 
spreading  over  the  plain,  filled  our  desolated 
sky  with  such  joy  that  I  went  out  and 
stayed  a  long  time  motionless,  listening. 

"It  is  pretty,  my  Lieutenant!" 

Next  to  me  I  perceived  the  smiling  face  of 
my  orderly.  Was  it  to  hear  or  to  see  better 
that  the  good  fellow  was  showing  his  teeth 
so?  He  seemed  to  be  in  ecstasy. 

Since  that  day  the  larks  have  become 
our  friends.  No  person  ever  comes  to  see 
us  at  the  front.  These  little  birds  alone 
link  us  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  How  could 
we  help  loving  them?  They  are  all  we 
have. 

Was  it  the  novelty  of  it  which  caused  our 
admiration  the  first  time  we  heard  the  con- 
cert ?  It  was  a  new  pleasure,  but  our  emo- 
tion came  from  a  more  profound  source. 
Our  souls  are  able  to  participate  in  great 
events  which  they  cannot  see.  Sometimes 
we  have  a  vision  and  suddenly  the  magni- 
tude of  the  scene  before  us  and  the  signifi- 
cance of  our  acts  appear  to  us.  Outside  of 
these  minutes,  when  we  know  how  to  live,  we 

99 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

act  with  the  simplicity  of  children.  The 
latter  are  wise  without  knowing  it,  for  by 
means  of  their  little  virtues  they  are  prepar- 
ing, that  wonder  of  God,  a  beautiful  life.  We 
are  disciplined  and  attentive  to  our  military 
duties,  but  careless  of  the  rest,  and  we  are 
scarcely  conscious  of  the  fact  that  we  are 
writing  an  epic. 

It  is  better  thus.  But  it  is  also  a  good 
thing  sometimes  that  a  shock  awakens  our 
slumbering  spirits.  Contrasts  give  us  this 
shock.  When  suddenly  we  perceive  the  me- 
diocrity of  a  being  or  an  object  which  we  con- 
sidered very  important,  our  nerves  contract 
and  we  penetrate  to  the  depths  of  human 
misery.  When  a  lark  flies  over  a  battle- 
field it  reveals  the  sweetness  of  life  to  people 
who  had  become  familiar  with  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  death.  They  look  and  listen 
enchanted  and,  if  they  cast  their  eyes  down, 
they  realize  in  a  minute  all  the  horror  of  the 
place  where  they  are  living,  all  the  savage 
beauty  of  the  task  they  are  accomplishing. 
That  is  why  the  heart  beats  at  such 
moments  and  why  this  soldier  who  had 
always  seen  so  many  larks  before  the  war 
without  noticing  them,  here,  in  the  trench, 
remarks:  "It  is  pretty,  that  song.'* 

100 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

Certain  larks  are  closer  to  our  hearts 
than  others;  some,  although  less  accessible, 
are  more  touching.  Our  best  companions 
are  those  who  dwell  in  the  clover  behind  our 
lines.  They  live  near  us  on  ground  that 
we  have  kept  for  them  with  the  rampart  of 
our  bodies.  They  are  the  first  to  benefit 
from  the  protection  we  give  to  all  that 
France  of  which  the  valleys  and  plains 
stretch  from  us  to  the  ocean.  They  are  the 
outpost  of  the  hard-working  country  that  we 
defend.  Hard  working  themselves,  atten- 
tive to  their  daily  needs,  they  are  charming 
housekeepers,  who  come  and  go,  chattering  as 
they  do  their  work.  They  do  not  make  any 
pretences,  they  do  not  flutter  like  those 
crazy  swallows,  which  we  never  see  here 
and  which  we  will  find  only  when  we  return 
again  to  our  homes,  God  knows  when! 
They  are  sweetness  and  grace  itself,  and 
when  they  mount  in  the  sky  so  high  that 
our  eyes,  although  long  accustomed  to  dis- 
covering the  aeroplanes,  can  no  longer 
follow  them,  we  feel  that  they  do  not  realize 
the  beauty  of  their  flight,  so  simple  and 
naive  is  the  note  that  falls  from  their 
throats. 

In  front  of  our  lines,  between  the  Germans 


101 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

and  us,  live  the  tragic  larks.  How  many 
times  have  I  not  looked  at  those  little 
creatures  who  stay  on  in  spite  of  the  horror 
about  them,  and  who  sing  even  above 
death?  They  show  us  the  vanity  of  human 
quarrels.  Some  Germans  and  French  are 
fighting:  what  is  that  to  them  as  long  as  the 
sun  rises  and  the  earth,  neglected  though  it 
be  by  ungrateful  and  quarrelsome  man, 
provides  the  food  for  their  little  ones? 
When  from  the  parapet  of  the  trench  one 
contemplates  the  mysterious  plain  where 
the  soldiers  of  the  most  formidable  armies 
of  the  world  are  hidden  what  a  surprise  it 
is  to  see  a  cheerful  little  bird  suddenly 
emerge,  hop  about,  turn  somersaults,  and 
suddenly  fly  away,  transporting  us  with  it 
toward  the  -sky.  These  French  larks  are 
so  alert  and  quick  to  conquer  the  skies, 
right  in  front  of  the  enemy,  that  with  very 
little  imagination  we  make  them  the  em- 
blem of  our  race,  impulsive  but  well  poised, 
ingenious  and  merry,  singing  and  rising  at 
the  same  time,  and  like  them  we  also  shall 
be  victorious. 

We  love  our  larks  as  the  messengers  of 
glory,  prophets  of  all  good  news.  It  was 
their  note  which  warned  us  of  the  spring- 

IO2 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

time  while  we  were  still  bending  our  backs 
under  the  weight  of  winter,  and  I  must  tell 
you  of  the  signal  they  give  us  every  morning. 

Imagine  a  night  in  the  trench  and  the 
night  guard,  up  listening.  The  fusillade 
is  almost  continuous.  It  decreases  some- 
times and  begins  again,  suddenly,  no  one 
knows  why.  Our  men  respond  but  little. 
What  would  be  the  use?  Ceaselessly  the 
Germans  send  up  illuminating  rockets. 
With  great  speed  they  rush  upward,  giving 
a  vivid  light  for  fifty  or  sixty  metres  of  their 
course  and  then  die  down.  The  light  given 
by  ours  is  not  so  penetrating  but  lasts 
longer.  They  remain  suspended  from  a 
light  parachute  and  during  seconds  which 
seem  interminable  project  on  the  grass  a 
pale  light.  The  vegetation  seems  to  be- 
come animated  and  sinister  shadows  seem 
to  move  in  front  of  our  lines.  Our  men 
shoot  at  these  phantoms  and  on  the  other 
side  the  rifles  go  off,  too,  but  toward  the1 
sky.  The  Germans,  who  never  miss  an 
occasion  to  practise,  are  aiming  at  the  fuses. 
It  makes  one  think  of  boys  at  a  fair,  trying 
to  shoot  an  egg  dancing  on  a  jet  of  water. 

All  that  noise  has  nothing  bellicose  about 
it.  Sometimes  the  artillery  thunders.  If 

103 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

it  is  ours,  we  inevitably  say:  "They  are 
getting  the  worst  of  it." 

If  it  is  theirs,  one  doesn't  laugh  quite  so 
much,  but  one  finds,  even  then,  words  of 
consolation. 

"  I  hear  we  need  more  aluminium  for  our 
rings.  We  have  ordered  some  from  the 
Boches;  they  are  good  business  men  and 
they  are  filling  the  order  immediately." 

The  hours  are  long.  Cold,  obscurity, 
silence,  immobility,  and  danger  tire  even 
the  most  courageous.  Formerly,  in  peace 
time,  when  on  guard,  one  could  always 
tell  the  time  by  the  convent  bells.  Here 
there  is  nothing  of  the  sort,  and  nearly  all 
our  watches  are  broken!  When  will  the 
day  come  ?  With  bent  backs  and  our  brown 
rugs  folded  in  two  or  four  over  our  heads  and 
shoulders,  we  walk  in  Indian  file,  stamping 
our  feet,  taking  ten  steps  to  the  right,  then 
all  together,  after  an  "about  face,"  ten 
to  the  left.  Suddenly  we  hear  a  muffled 
roar.  We  stop  and  listen.  It  is  a  strong 
cannonade  over  there  toward  the  north. 
After  a  few  minutes  of  attention,  a  few  com- 
ments on  the  war,  and  always  a  few  jokes, 
too,  we  resume  with  a  sigh  the  muddy  prom- 
enade, waiting  for  the  divine  morning  hour. 
104 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

Daylight  means  release.  The  cooks  will 
bring  hot  soup  and  coffee.  Life  will  re- 
sume its  course.  The  trench,  in  a  few 
minutes,  will  be  cleaned  and  swept  like  a 
barrack  corridor.  The  number  of  men  on 
guard  duty  will  be  reduced.  We  will 
breathe  once  more. 

And  yet  light  is  not  coming.  The  sun 
which  ought  to  appear  behind  the  German 
lines  remains  hidden.  It  is  two  o'clock: 
the  corporal  has  said  so.  One  leans  against 
the  parapet,  with  eyes  lost  in  the  gray  sky, 
and  a  heavy  soul. 

Suddenly  a  chirp,  then  another,  then 
several.  Thank  the  Lord  the  larks  are 
waking!  Is  it  possible?  The  dawn  has 
not  yet  appeared,  but  happiness  enters  our 
hearts,  as  when  at  school  the  pupils  hear 
the  liberating  bell.  It  is  necessary  to  have 
been  on  watch  like  this  during  long  nights 
in  front  of  the  enemy  to  know  the  intoxicat- 
ing beauty  of  the  sun's  rising,  accompanied 
by  the  song  of  the  lark,  and  to  love  forever 
those  charming  birds,  heralds  of  all  glories: 
the  spring,  the  day,  and — God  permitting — 
victory. 

There  are  other  creatures  around  us, 
but  silent  and  terrified  ones.  These  are 

105 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

not  sacred,  and  the  soldier  who  has  a  rifle 
and  knows  how  to  use  it  watches  for  them 
and  from  his  hole  shoots  them  without  a 
permit.  The  listening  posts,  in  front  of 
the  lines,  are  wonderful  for  that.  The  art 
consists  in  shooting  the  partridges  through 
the  head.  It  is  very  easy  for  those  who  know 
how.  If  one  misses  one's  aim,  one  smiles 
and  hopes  that  the  bullet  was  not  entirely 
wasted,  and  that  perhaps  over  there  some 
German  may  have  found  himself  in  the 
right  place  to  receive  it.  It  is  nothing  to 
kill  a  partridge:  but  in  order  to  eat  it  it  is 
necessary  to  go  and  bring  it  in  from  the  grass, 
straight  in  front  of  the  enemy.  Some  of 
the  men,  who  would  perhaps  make  a  grimace 
if  they  were  told  to  crawl  out  to  observe  or 
listen,  jump  on  the  parapet  and  on  all 
fours,  madly  imprudent,  laughing  at  every- 
thing— the  Boches  and  themselves — run 
toward  the  little  prey,  put  it  in  their  pocket, 
and  come  back  nearly  as  happy  as  if  they 
had  won  the  croix  de  guerre. 

One  day  a  great  big  chap,  a  renowned 
shot,  noticed  that  the  beet-stalks  were 
moving.  He  pushed  his  neighbour's  elbow: 

"A  Boche,  there,  look!" 

"  A  Boche  ?  You  are  crazy !  It  is  a  hare. " 
1 06 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

"I  believe  it  is  a  Boche  and  so" — boom! 

I  must  tell  you  that,  two  days  before,  it 
had  been  forbidden  to  shoot  at  game  on 
account  of  wasting  ammunition.  He  shot 
and  killed  a  splendid  hare,  and,  his  hour 
of  watch  over,  brought  it  to  us. 

The  funny  part  is  that  the  next  day  the 
Bulletin  brought  news  of  the  punishment  of 
a  man  from  another  company  who  had  done 
exactly  the  same  thing:  "has  wasted  two 
bullets  on  a  hare  in  spite  of  strict  orders 
against  shooting  published  in  the  order  of 
the  day." 

That  same  evening  the  Colonel,  while 
going  through  our  trench,  saw  a  beautiful 
skin  hanging  by  our  door.  He  opened  wide 
his  eyes  and  asked: 

"What  did  you  give  the  man  who  killed 
that  for  you?"' 

"  Five  sous,  Colonel." 

"It  is  not  too  much.  As  for  the  other 
unlucky  man  who  got  punished,  I'll  have  the 
offence  changed.  I'll  say:  'Has  missed  a 
hare/  That's  well  worth  four  days'  con- 
finement." 

"Quite  so,  Colonel." 

Of  what  other  birds,  what  other  game 
can  I  speak  to  you?  There  are  no  crows 

107 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

around  here,  only  the  empty  nest  of  one. 
The  bird  has  not  appeared  since  we  came 
here.  Its  nest  is  very  important;  it  is  a 
strategical  point.  When  we  studied  his- 
tory, we  imagined  the  great  warriors  of 
olden  days,  pale  from  bending  over  maps, 
their  eyes  fixed  on  fortified  cities  and 
narrow  passes.  Here  it  is  in  front  of  a  tiny 
manure  heap,  which  is  flattening  itself  out 
and  disappearing  as  the  months  go  by,  and 
a  tree,  at  the  top  of  which  is  a  crow's  nest, 
that  we  are  stopped.  In  all  the  military 
conversations,  whether  one  is  speaking  of 
patrols,  reconnoitring,  attacks,  or  the  regu- 
lation of  artillery  fire,  the  "crow's  nest" 
and  the  little  "manure  heap"  recur,  con- 
stantly, like  a  leit  motiv.  It  makes  us  mod- 
est and  that  is  a  good  thing.  I  am  always 
so  afraid  that  after  the  war  those  who  will 
have  the  joy  of  being  still  alive  will  think 
themselves  extraordinary  men  and  become 
insufferable.  For  my  part,  if  people  ask 
me  to  tell  about  my  great  deeds  of  valour 
and  I  am  tempted  to  glorify  myself,  I  will 
at  once  think  of  the  crow's  nest,  and  if  they 
insist,  of  the  manure  heap. 

If  people  remark  later  that  the  war  was 
ugly,  those  who  took  part  in  it  will  say  that 

108 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

at  least  the  poppies  in  front  of  the  trenches 
were  not  ugly.  The  battlefield  poppies  will 
remain  in  our  eyes  throughout  our  life  as 
the  lark's  song  will  remain  in  our  ears ! 

Have  you,  Madame,  received  from  your 
son  or  husband;  or  you,  Mademoiselle, 
from  your  fiance — from  the  one  for  whom 
your  heart  beats — a  war  poppy,  spread  out 
on  a  white  sheet  of  paper  with  a  name  and 
a  date?  If  so,  guard  that  beautiful  red 
stain  as  piously  as  a  relic. 

I  first  saw  the  dazzling  vision  of  the  war 
poppies  about  a  hundred  yards  back  of  the 
line,  near  a  camp.  We  were  going  out  from 
a  village,  a  comrade  and  I.  Just  as  we 
had  passed  the  last  house,  a  huge,  bright 
red  field  appeared  in  the  valley  near  by. 

"  How  dreadful !"  exclaimed  my  compan- 
ion. 

I  looked  at  him,  then  at  the  poppies. 

"You  are  joking?" 

"Not  at  all!  Those  are  weeds!  Hid- 
eous!" 

One  becomes  an  officer  in  war  time,  but 
one  has  a  profession  in  civil  life.  My  friend, 
although  a  very  good  officer,  always  re- 
mained the  scientific  farmer  he  had  once 

been. 

i 

109 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

"Monsieur,  the  agriculturist,"  I  replied: 
"your  words  are  undoubtedly  true.  That 
beautiful  thing  is  a  field  of  desolation,  but  all 
the  same  I  find  it  wonderful.  Look  again ! " 

I  explained  that  it  was  beautiful  in  the 
same  way  that  a  painting  is  beautiful.  The 
argument  proved  convincing  and  I  felt 
proud  of  having  found  it.  Our  eyes  have 
contracted  a  sense  of  colour  that  Nature 
rarely  offends.  Beautiful  and  rich  enough, 
without  resorting  to  the  bizarre,  she  charms 
us  without  effort  and  we  sense  all  the  beauti- 
ful secrets  that  each  season  has  brought 
forth  unchangingly  since  the  beginning  of 
the  world.  The  artist,  less  powerful  and 
less  disinterested,  in  order  to  captivate  our 
interest,  must  resort  to  some  artifice,  which 
is  not  always  successful.  The  most  com- 
mon of  these  consists  in  throwing  extraor- 
dinary colour  combinations  before  our 
eyes.  Thus  each  year,  in  the  art  exhibits, 
one  sees  purple,  yellow,  and  red  tints,  which 
rarely  exist  under  the  true  sun  in  the  fields. 
One  of  those  red  tints,  unknown  to  us  in 
peace,  because  it  was  then  intermingled 
with  the  mellowness  of  the  wheat,  has  now 
rapidly  extended  into  great  blood-red  car- 
pets before  our  eyes.  When  a  painter  dares 

no 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

to  do  as  much,  one  smiles.  If  it  is  Nature, 
one  admires! 

When  we  went  back  to  the  first  line  at 
the  time  of  the  great  battles  in  Artois,  I 
was  glad  to  see  the  poppies  growing  even 
there,  in  front  of  the  trenches.  They  en- 
chanted our  eyes,  and  it  was  through  that  in- 
trinsically worthless  but  strikingly  beautiful 
vegetation  that  our  soldiers,  gay  cavaliers, 
went  forward  to  the  assault.  Can  one  say 
that  those  scarlet  harvests  were  worthless? 
Is  it  nothing  to  have  cheered  the  last  glance 
of  so  many  sons  of  France  ?  The  neglected 
earth,  unable  to  produce  wheat  to  nourish 
our  bodies,  gave  us  rays  of  triumphal  light 
for  the  joy  of  our  souls.  During  days  of 
mourning  beautiful  things  are  revolting. 
But  the  war,  through  which  we  are  living, 
instead  of  weakening  our  souls,  exalts 
them.  While  we  sadly  draw  black  veils 
over  the  remains  of  our  brothers  in  arms, 
God,  who  knows  better  than  we  how  to 
honour  the  dead,  bestows  upon  them  a  pro- 
fusion of  war  flowers,  mingling  their  red  col- 
our with  the  blood  of  our  martyrs. 

A  thousand  other  flowers  spring  up 
around  our  trenches.  One  day  a  little  girl, 
eager  to  serve  France  in  her  own  way,  told 

in 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

her  mother  to  ask  me  to  send  her  the  name 
of  a  poor  soldier  to  adopt  as  her  godchild. 
I  got  hold  of  a  good  fellow  whose  family 
lives  in  a  province  occupied  by  the  Germans, 
and  I  started  a  correspondence  between 
my  little  French  girl  and  this  pleasing  but 
uncultivated  godchild.  The  letters  and 
presents  began  pouring  in!  The  soldier 
was  delighted.  He  said  to  me: 

"She  wants  me  to  write  her  the  names 
of  my  children.  I'll  send  them  to  her  in 
a  letter."  Then  he  added:  "If  you  don't 
object,  my  Lieutenant,  I  could  perhaps 
send  her  a  flower?" 

A  week  later  the  little  godmother  told 
me  that  she  was  astonished  at  the  pretty 
thoughts  the  soldiers  have,  and  that  her 
godchild  had  sent  her  a  beautiful  golden 
flower. 

The  flower  was  one  of  those  common  wild 
ones  which  are  unknown  to  city  people, 
like  me,  by  name,  but  which  we  love  to 
find  growing  in  the  fields  in  springtime. 
The  flower  was  enclosed  with  a  long,  poetic 
letter  from  her  godchild  that  the  dear  child 
sent  me. 

I  had  seen  my  man  that  very  morning, 
leaning  over  a  parapet,  in  one  of  the  back 

112 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

trenches,  scribbling  big,  ill-shaped  letters 
on  a  white  sheet  of  paper. 

"It  makes  you  sweat,  old  man." 

"  Rather,  my  Lieutenant." 

"When  you  dig,  you  don't  get  so  hot?" 

"Well,  no,  sir.'? 

Was  this  simple  being,  then,  capable  of 
writing  pretty  things?  I  opened  the  pre- 
cious paper,  sent  by  the  child,  and  saw 
capital  letters  traced  artistically.  My  eyes 
fell  on  this  sentence  with  dismay:  "With 
my  hand  on  my  heart,  Mademoiselle,  and 
dear  godmother,  I  place  at  your  knees, 
rather  at  your  feet,  this  emblem  of  your 
simple  grace." 

The  monster  of  duplicity,  aided  by  the 
"writer"  of  the  squad,  had  copied  his  letter 
out  of  a  manual  for  correspondence,  called 
" Le  par/ait  Secretaire"  and  had  deceived 
my  honest  little  girl.  I  was  tempted  to  be 
severe  with  him,  but,  after  all,  in  this  case 
the  letter  mattered  so  little!  Upon  think- 
ing it  over,  this  rough  man's  action  seemed 
to  me  full  of  grace.  He  knew  the  rules  of 
gallantry  well  enough  to  pluck  a  flower  and 
offer  it  to  his  lady. 

There  came  a  day  when  we  must  ruthlessly 
cut  the  high  grass  and  with  it  the  flowers. 

"3 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

All  that  vegetation  hid  the  enemy's  posi- 
tions and  allowed  him  to  crawl  nearly  up  to 
us  without  being  discovered.  One  morning 
we  heard  that  the  company  was  going  to 
be  sent  two  scythes.  These  new  weapons 
were  received  in  the  commanding  post  with 
much  respect  by  a  comrade  and  myself. 
Neither  of  us  had  ever  encountered  such  a 
tool  face  to  face!  I  won't  say  we  felt 
frightened:  we  were  more  like  chickens 
who  had  found  a  toothbrush.  That  same 
evening  we  began  to  clear  the  ground  in 
front  of  the  parapet.  Of  course,  the  scythes 
were  broken  during  the  first  night.  Then 
we  were  given  sickles  to  use.  They  were 
all  right  for  the  grass,  but  would  not  cut 
the  tough  beet-stalks  and  the  men  had  to 
use  their  shovels.  The  real  difficulty  was 
encountered  when  they  came  to  the  barbed- 
wire  entanglement. 

You  must  imagine  a  moonless  night  in  the 
fields.  No  lamp  posts  here  or  lighted  shop 
windows.  The  star  shells  make  a  lot  of 
light  but  only  for  the  benefit  of  our  backs, 
for  when  we  hear  the  slight  noise  they  make 
in  starting,  we  immediately  throw  our- 
selves flat  on  the  ground  with  our  chins  in 
the  mud.  You  will  say:  "Why  don't  you 

114 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

work  when  the  moon  is  up?"  Unfor- 
tunately the  moon  is  thoughtless  and  sheds 
her  rays  indiscriminately.  When  she  is 
there  the  Germans  see  our  silhouettes  as 
plainly  as  we  see  theirs,  and  the  only  thing 
we  can  all  do  is  to  go  back  and  hide.  It  is 
so  dark  sometimes  that  it  is  impossible  to 
see  a  yard  in  front  of  one :  then  it  is  useless 
to  try  to  put  a  hand  through  the  barbed-wire 
entanglement  to  cut  the  grass  and  flowers. 

One  morning  at  daybreak  I  came  out  of 
my  hole  and  could  see  nothing  but  fog. 
From  the  firing  trench  one  saw  barely  ten 
yards  across  the  plain.  At  that  hour  the 
men  are  tired  out,  and  they  have  every 
right  to  be.  Yet  I  was  greatly  tempted  to 
make  use  of  this  piece  of  luck  and  have  the 
men,  under  cover  of  the  fog  bank,  go  out 
and  remove  the  waving  green  screen  grow- 
ing in  the  defensive  barriers.  I  got  hold  of 
a  shovel,  jumped  on  the  parapet,  and  said 
to  one  or  two  of  the  men: 

"Follow  me." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  twenty  men 
had  joined  me  and  the  work  was  quickly 
done. 

Opposite  we  could  hear  plainly  the  blows 
of  mallets.  The  Germans  were  putting 

"5 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

up  stakes  in  front  of  their  lines.  Only  the 
night  before  a  corporal  had  come  and  told 
the  commandant  of  our  company: 

"My  Lieutenant,  the  plain  is  full  of 
Boches.  We  ought  to  ask  for  the  artillery." 

Our  friend,  being  a  practical  man,  had 
answered : 

"Leave  the  Boches  alone.  We  also  want 
to  be  left  alone  when  we  work  on  the  barbed 
wire." 

An  hour  later  a  volley  came  from  a  Ger- 
man post,  in  the  direction  of  our  workmen. 
It  might  have  been  a  mistake,  but  more 
probably  the  enemy  pioneers  had  finished 
their  own  work,  and  no  longer  needed  pro- 
tection for  themselves. 

That  foggy  morning  seemed  to  me  fav- 
ourable for  revenge.  I  got  all  my  men 
together  and,  to  the  great  joy  of  those 
bearded  children,  said  that  we  were  going 
to  administer  punishment  to  the  people 
opposite.  But  an  inspiration  came  to  me 
suddenly.  What  if  by  an  unhappy  chance 
there  were  some  of  our  men  in  the  field 
behind  us  ?  They  would  receive  the  sharp 
reply  of  the  German  rifles. 

"Go  and  see,"  I  said  to  a  soldier.  He 
came  running  and  shouted  to  me: 

116 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

"Don't  fire,  sir,  our  whole  company  is 
out!" 

"Are  you  mad?" 

"Not  more  than  usual.  They  are  search- 
ing for  shell  fuses." 

The  fog  then  began  to  lift.  For  fifty 
meters  around  we  could  see  our  men,  bent 
double,  scrutinizing  the  ground.  Here  and 
there  groups  of  three  or  four  were  climbing 
out  of  huge  shell-holes.  Others,  stick  in 
hand,  solemnly,  like  magicians,  were  push- 
ing aside  the  grass  as  they  walked.  Usually 
at  that  early  hour,  having  just  swallowed  a 
hot  meal,  they  are  sleeping  soundly.  But 
that  day  it  was  a  question  of  getting  some 
aluminium  to  make  those  little  rings  that 
they  send  to  their  wives,  sisters,  mothers, 
cousins,  and  fiancees.  Soldiers  are  poets. 

I  had  to  order  them  in.  To  console  them 
I  ordered  the  promised  volley. 

"It  will  make  them  jump,  my  Lieu- 
tenant!" 

I  don't  know  if  many  Germans  danced, 
but  I  do  know  that  they  fired  back  at 
us  furiously  for  a  time.  One  would  have 
believed  it  to  be  an  attack,  and  my  com- 
rades, awakened  abruptly,  could  have 
strangled  me  for  the  false  alarm,  Thus 

"7 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

ends  my  little  story  of  grass  cutting  and 
fog:  a  few  flowers  less,  a  few  rings  more. 

Is  it  necessary  to  tell  you  about  the  beet- 
plants  ?  Ah !  They  will  leave  recollections 
in  our  senses:  touch,  vision,  and  smell. 
During  this  war  we  have  been  saturated 
with  beet-roots.  Even  our  feet  know  them, 
those  cursed  things.  I  don't  wish  any 
civilian  ever  to  repeat  our  night  walks 
among  these  treacherous  and  slippery  stalks. 
The  strongest  among  us  broke  their  legs 
at  that  work. 

At  night  they  were  a  perfect  nightmare, 
during  the  early  days  of  the  campaign. 
Their  dark  foliage  was  continually  mistaken 
for  German  silhouettes.  One  of  my  young 
friends,  who  really  has  never  known  fear, 
said  to  me  the  other  day: 

"Only  once  have  I  ever  made  the  com- 
plete sacrifice  of  my  life.  I  was  in  front  of 
my  section,  and  suddenly  about  ten  feet 
away  I  saw  a  line  of  enemy  riflemen.  I 
told  my  men  to  lie  down,  I  looked  closely, 
and  very  clearly  made  out  moving  helmets. 
I  took  the  only  possible  course  and  tried 
bluff.  Alone,  revolver  in  hand,  I  threw 
myself  forward,  shouting  in  German  with 
all  my  strength:  *  Surrender!  You  are 

118 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

prisoners!'  There  were  only  beet-stalks, 
their  heads  nodding  in  the  wind." 

There  can  be  only  one  pleasant  recollec- 
tion of  the  beet-plant:  its  perfume. 

One  dreadfully  hot  June  day  I  was 
hastening  through  the  boyaux  to  join  the 
officers  of  a  neighbouring  company,  about 
five  hundred  metres  from  my  post.  One's 
chief  wish  for  such  paths  in  summer  is  that 
they  might  be  rendered  odourless.  Vain 
wish  when  it  is  a  much-frequented  way. 
There  are  always  dead  rats,  or  garbage, 
insufficiently  covered,  rotting  at  the  bottom. 
Bags  of  lime  and  buckets  of  disinfectants 
are  emptied  in  the  main  and  cross  trenches 
frequently  to  safeguard  the  men's  health. 
It  is  useless,  however,  to  try  to  please  their 
nostrils.  The  vegetation  of  the  field  hung 
down  above  my  head  and  flimsy  plants 
caressed  my  face  to  the  right  and  left. 
Suddenly  the  air  that  I  breathed  seemed 
charged  with  honey.  Little  by  little  the 
sensation  became  so  strong  that  I  was  al- 
most intoxicated.  I  shut  my  eyes  in  order 
to  enjoy  that  wonderful  feeling  more  freely. 
Was  I  in  Greece,  inhaling  the  wonderful 
odours  of  Mount  Hymette?  A  shell  came 
and  awoke  me  from  my  dream  with  its 

119 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

unpleasant  noise.  I  lifted  myself  up  to 
look  at  the  fields.  Beet-plants  gone  to 
seed  were  the  only  visible  objects.  On  their 
high,  bushy  stems,  millions  of  little  green 
bells,  flowers  or  seeds — I  hardly  knew  which 
— were  warming  themselves  in  the  midday 
sun.  They  smelt  wonderfully  sweet. 
Henceforth  a  thousand  recollections  of  the 
war  will  come  to  me  whenever  I  smell  a 
cake  made  with  honey. 

Whenever  my  eyes  shall  rest  on  the  nest 
of  a  mouse  the  recollections  will  be  less 
cheerful,  but  the  effect  will  be  the  same.  I 
write  "mouse"  as  an  euphemism.  I  mean 
all  those  small,  unclean  animals  which  are 
commonly  called  moles,  field-mice,  and  rats 
of  various  sizes.  At  first  we  knew  little  of 
our  companions  of  misfortune.  The  first 
visitors  in  our  caves  were  the  earth  worms. 
I  remember  we  were  sitting  in  the  dugout 
one  day,  on  rickety  chairs,  which  once 
belonged  to  the  Boche  and  before  that  to 
our  civilian  population.  Our  backs  were 
jammed  against  the  wall,  while  in  front  we 
were  nearly  cut  in  two  by  the  edge  of  the 
table.  The  opposite  wall  of  damp  earth  was 
scarcely  more  than  two  feet  away.  The 
only  light  was  from  a  candle  of  bad  quality 

120 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

planted  in  a  niche  of  the  wall.  Our  menu 
contained  cold  fried  potatoes  (which  is 
sad)  and  cold  mashed  potatoes  (which  is 
even  sadder).  All  of  a  sudden  a  lump  of 
earth  fell  in  my  pewter  plate.  We  lifted 
our  heads  and  there  beheld,  emerging  from 
the  earth,  a  little,  wriggling  worm,  hanging 
like  a  pink  tear. 

"Quick,  a  match!" 

An  orderly  scratched  a  match  and  ap- 
proached the  hanging  shred.  We  laughed 
like  children.  The  creature  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  fire  and  acted  like  a  puppy.  It 
contracted  and  disappeared  with  such  funny 
quick  movements  that  the  effect  on  our 
nerves  was  electrical.  Entire  matchboxes 
have  been  consumed  in  this  manner.  Some- 
times, when  officers  and  orderlies  were 
heaped  together  in  the  same  dugout,  begin- 
ning to  get  bored,  one  of  the  soldiers  would 
say:  "Ah,  now  we  are  going  to  laugh." 

He  would  take  the  candle  and  pass  it 
along  the  walls.  As  each  worm  hastily 
withdrew,  without  waiting  for  farewells, 
peals  of  laughter  would  arise  and  the  time 
would  pass  more  quickly  afterward. 

Now  the  worms  no  longer  come  to  our 
beautiful,  comfortable  shelters.  Instead 


121 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

we  have  moles  in  our  boyaux.  Lying  on 
their  backs,  their  little  pink  claws  open, 
these  dead  animals  have  a  better  appear- 
ance than  that  of  their  cousins,  the  field- 
mice.  Their  round  bodies,  short  and  fat 
like  frankfurt  sausages,  are  entirely  covered 
with  silky  fur.  They  look  as  if  they  were 
kittens.  The  mouth,  a  white  spot  about 
the  neck,  is  all  that  can  be  seen  of  their 
funny  little  faces.  Why  all  these  little  corp- 
ses every  morning  in  the  boyaux?  They  fall 
into  these  long  corridors  and  are  unable  to 
escape  the  brutal  feet  of  the  soldiers.  I 
should  have  thought  them  intelligent  enough 
to  get  away  by  digging  if  they  could  not 
by  running.  Beside  them  lie  quantities  of 
crushed  and  disembowelled  field-mice.  They 
are  no  uglier  to  behold,  ladies,  than  the 
horses  of  the  picadores  in  the  Spanish  bull 
rings. 

The  military  authority  who  watches 
over  the  hygienic  condition  of  the  troops 
appoints  a  soldier  called  the  taupier 
(mole  killer),  one  for  each  boyau,  whose  busi- 
ness it  is  to  take  away  all  the  dead  animals 
and  to  bury  them  every  morning.  I  know  a 
ladies'  hair  dresser  who  accomplishes,  with 
much  distinction,  this  warlike  function  and 

122 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

who  certainly  won't  reveal  the  fact  to  his 
fair  clients  after  the  war. 

Strange  little  animals!  The  war  has 
multiplied  them.  The  bread,  the  remains 
of  meat  and  vegetables  that  the  men  throw 
around  the  camps  and  trenches,  have  al- 
ready stuffed  several  generations  of  rodents. 
Finding  life  good  they  have  reproduced 
themselves  rapidly.  In  the  villages,  rats 
as  large  as  cats  prowl  continually  in  the 
barns  where  the  soldiers  are  sleeping. 

"They  look  like  calves,  Captain." 

The  person  to  whom  this  remark  was 
addressed  smiled. 

"You  exaggerate,  my  boy." 

"  Not  much,  my  Captain.  But  those  mere 
animals  won't  bother  me  after  all  that  I 
have  seen." 

In  the  little  room  where  I  go  every  now 
and  then  to  take  my  royal  slumbers  I 
noticed  that  I  disturb  the  mice  quite  a 
little.  I  minded  them  at  first,  from  force  of 
habit.  Now  I  let  them  play  around  me. 
Only  once  have  I  thought  them  too  presum- 
ing. One  of  them  had  just  run  across  my 
face,  I  still  can  feel  the  light  touch  of  its 
little  feet  against  my  cheek.  Another  one 
was  turning  somersaults  in  my  empty 

123 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

basin,  out  of  which  it  was  trying  to  climb; 
the  most  practical  one  of  the  three  was 
devouring  my  new  sponge.  Do  you  think 
that  in  time  of  peace  and  in  civil  life  I 
should  have  tolerated  such  manners  ?  The 
war  has  made  philosophers  of  us  all. 

The  field  mice  are  less  fortunate.  The 
trenches  attract  them,  but  to  their  doom. 
For  them  a  trench  is  a  formidable  precipice. 
They  climb  down  the  sloping  side  of  a 
ditch  with  difficulty,  but  the  side  of  a  boyau 
is  vertical,  and  the  animals  who  are  out 
hunting  at  night  have  tragic  falls  when 
they  attempt  its  descent.  On  arriving  at 
the  bottom  a  little  stunned,  they  begin  to 
look  for  some  exit.  Gradually  they  lose 
courage  and  putting  their  front  paws  on  the 
wall,  their  little  pointed  faces  turned  to- 
ward the  sky,  frantically  attempt  to  leap 
out.  Many  times  under  the  beam  of  my 
electric  lamp  I  have  seen  these  terrified 
little  animals  madly  running  back  and 
forth,  throwing  themselves  at  the  side  walls, 
jumping  to  the  right  and  left,  and  even 
under  my  feet  if  I  had  not  been  careful  to 
avoid  them.  The  soldiers  do  not  take  the 
same  trouble.  It  is  simply:  "Crunch! 
Another  one !" 

124 


LARKS,  POPPIES,  MICE 

At  the  war  one  does  not  wear  thin  shoes, 
nor  wipe  one's  feet  on  Persian  rugs  on  the 
way  out  of  the  boyaux. 

The  dead  mice  play  such  an  important 
part,  even  in  the  thoughts  of  the  high 
command,  that  one  day  the  chief  of 
a  neighbouring  battalion  sent  by  his  aide- 
de-camp  to  the  captain  of  a  company  at 
the  front  a  note  running  thus:  "Urgent! 
There'  is  a  dead  rat  in  the  boyaux.  Please 
explain!"  It  was  necessary  to  take  a  sheet 
of  paper  and  make  a  formal  reply.  An 
inquiry  was  made  and  it  was  discovered 
that  the  rat  was  a  field  mouse,  which  had 
fallen  in  the  boyau  after  the  prescribed  hour. 
The  taupier  passes,  according  to  orders, 
before  eight  in  the  morning.  After  that 
hour  there  is  not  a  dead  animal  about.  We 
had  to  own  that  that  morning  the  com- 
pany had  been  presented  with  an  extra 
field  mouse  and  that  we  had  not  paid  any 
attention  to  the  fact.  Bad  business ! 

All  these  little  beasts  that  have  been  our 
companions  in  misery  will  be  remembered 
with  a  mixture  of  repulsion  and  tenderness. 
I  was  wandering  last  night  in  a  section  of 
trench  when  close  by  my  ear  a  tuft  of 
grass  began  to  move.  I  turned  quickly  and 

125 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

found  myself  confronted  by  a  funny  little 
mouse.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  anything 
more  odd  than  our  ceremonious  interview. 
I  kept  serious.  She  watched  me  intently 
with  her  beady  eyes,  sitting  on  her  haunches, 
her  ears  erect,  her  nose  moving.  She  was 
trying  to  understand,  and  really  so  was  I. 
She  seemed  to  say: 

"What  are  we  both  doing  here?" 

"Well,  mouse,  I  believe  we  are  both  wait- 
ing for  some  violent  death  and  that  I  am 
as  miserable  as  you.  With  all  my  pride  and 
this  uniform,  once  handsome,  but  now 
covered  with  dust  and  mud,  I  am  of  no 
more  worth  on  this  earth  than  your  little 
gray,  trembling  body.  Then  don't  be 
frightened  by  my  moustache  or  my  big 
shoes;  let  us  be  friends!" 

"  Let  us  be  friends,"  she  seemed  to  reply, 
nodding  her  head. 

"Good-night,  little  friend.  If  I  come  out 
of  this  I  promise  that  in  my  soldier's  heart 
you  shall  share  a  corner  with  the  larks  and 
the  poppies." 


126 


STRENGTH 


VII 

Strength 

THIS  war  reminds  us  that  physical 
strength  is  a  desirable  quality. 
For  a  long  time  we  had  been 
taught  the  contrary.  Under  the  social- 
istic teachings  of  the  Rights  of  Man  one 
had  neither  desire  nor  encouragement  to 
become  strong.  Beings,  conscious  of  the 
superiority  of  reason,  saw  no  necessity  for 
a  strong  body  and  did  not  desire  to  see  men 
of  that  type  around  them.  They  took  pride 
in  their  physical  weakness  because  it  made 
their  intellectual  power  more  striking. 
Truth  was  ruler  and  Mars  lay  groaning 
under  her  heel.  Our  wise  men  disdained 
the  argument  of  force  and  no  doubt  thought 
themselves  superior  to  that  law. 

There  are  natural  laws,  one  of  which 
encourages  the  strong  to  crush  the  weak. 
These  laws  are  written  in  the  book  of 

127 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

Science.  Assuredly  these  opponents  of 
Force  know  Science  for  they  are  always 
speaking  about  it.  Have  they  never  learned 
from  it  the  action  of  Forces,  and  that  in  the 
relations  of  these  forces  to  each  other  the 
most  vigorous  dominate  and  destroy  the 
others  ?  In  the  physiological  order  of  things, 
one  gives  to  this  same  phenomenon  the 
name  of  the  Survival  of  the  Fittest.  How 
Nature  makes  use  of  force  does  not  seem 
to  have  arrested  the  attention  of  our 
philosophers.  Anxious  to  find  only  demon- 
strable truths,  they  ignore  one  of  the  most 
certain.  They  idolize  progress  and  refuse 
to  see  that  its  last  word  is  the  apotheosis 
of  the  strong.  The  mildest  thing  one  can 
say  is  that  they  are  inconsistent  when  they 
profess  both  love  of  science  and  contempt 
of  strength  at  the  same  time. 

They  dislike  force  because  it  is  a  reality 
which  obstinately  intrudes  upon  their 
dreams.  They  have  decreed  fraternity  be- 
tween people  and  that  the  independence  of 
Nations  is  sacred.  The  war  is  their  answer. 

It  is  the  same  thing  when  it  comes  to 

individual  strength.    They  have  instituted 

equality.    A  man  striving  for  equality  does 

not  want  to  be  outrun  or  to  outrun  anyone 

128 


STRENGTH 

himself.  He  is  free,  but  on  condition  that 
he  respect  the  jealously  guarded  liberty  of 
others.  These  are  fine  theories,  but  if  one 
solitary  individual  trains  his  muscles,  he 
can  upset  them  all. 

For  that  reason  envy  is  always  on  guard 
against  strong  people.  Unhappily,  those 
who  are  really  superior  are  always  the  first 
suspects;  while  the  field  remains  clear  for 
those  desirous  of  usurping  power.  When 
the  war  broke  out  we  were  living  under  the 
rule  of  brigands,  plutocrats,  cynics,  and 
rhetoricians.  They  fell  furiously  upon  the 
beneficial  forces,  while  the  evil  ones  strength- 
ened themselves. 

The  war  will  put  everything  back  in  its 
place  and  the  just  will  render  to  strength 
the  attention  which  it  deserves. 

There  exists  no  essential  opposition  be- 
tween right  and  force.  A  man  who  is  right 
is  worthy  of  respect.  If  he  prove  himself 
physically  strong,  he  becomes  splendid. 
His  arms  serve  his  spirit  and  his  physical 
power  enhances  his  moral  power. 

Muscular  strength  does  not  necessarily 
involve  intellectual  debility  nor  does  moral 
strength  gain  by  physical  weakness.  Ath- 
letes are  not  necessarily  imbeciles,  nor  are 

129 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

scientific  people  necessarily  weaklings.  One 
sees  men  with  low  foreheads  parading  in 
circuses,  yet  the  most  intelligent  wrestlers 
are,  after  all,  the  best,  and  the  reasoning  of 
a  man  with  a  sound  body  inspires  me  with 
as  much  confidence  as  that  of  a  man  with 
a  feeble  one.  The  health  of  the  body 
and  that  of  the  mind  are  naturally  linked 
together.  I  love  strength  because  I  love 
health. 

What  disgrace  to  our  philosophers  that 
in  the  years  just  preceding  the  war  the 
best  youths  of  our  country  disowned  their 
teachings  and  became,  not  only  religious 
and  patriotic  but  reasonable  and  strong! 
When  that  reawakening,  increased  tenfold 
by  the  virtues  learned  from  the  battlefield, 
shall  have  produced  its  far-reaching  effects, 
it  will  be  interesting  to  search  for  its  far- 
removed  causes.  I  am  sure  it  will  be 
found  that  one  of  them  is  the  taste  the 
children  of  this  generation  have  acquired  for 
physical  culture,  beginning  in  their  earliest 
years. 

Here   at  the  front   I   most   admire  our 


young  soldiers.  A  considerable  gathering 
in  the  camp  attracted  my  attention  the 
other  day.  Last  winter  I  had  seen  the 


130 


STRENGTH 

same  number  of  men  crowded  into  a  smoky 
and  odorous  inn.  Through  the  windows  I 
had  heard  the  nasal  voice  of  some  soldier 
comedian  singing  an  absurd  refrain.  This 
time  there  was  neither  a  word  nor  a 
sound.  The  whole  village  square  was 
occupied  by  blue-gray  soldiers  standing  in 
a  circle  and  watching  intently. 

"  It's  Courbier  who  is  wrestling." 

"Is  he  good?" 

"Wonderful!" 

"Let  us  pass." 

They  stepped  aside  and  we  pushed  our 
way  through  the  dense  crowd.  Courbier 
was  an  infantryman  and  the  camp  was  full 
of  artillerymen  who  were  looking  on  with 
profound  admiration — the  first  reason  for 
pride.  He  belonged  to  my  regiment  and 
to  my  company ;  supreme  satisfaction !  How 
handsome  he  was  as  he  fought,  stripped  to 
the  waist — his  limbs  supple,  his  eyes  bright! 
I  was,  in  particular,  struck  by  the  tran- 
quillity of  his  face,  which  remained  always 
the  same  even  when  downing  his  breathless 
opponent.  Real  strength  gives  one  a  seren- 
ity which  resembles  that  of  happiness, 
even  during  the  greatest  activity.  One 
after  another  the  strong  men  presented 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

themselves,  removed  their  shirts,  exhibited 
their  muscles,  frowned,  and  were  thrown  by 
this  handsome  lad.  The  audience  ap- 
plauded. The  performance  over,  everyone 
shouted  praises  of  the  victor  and  spoke  of 
his  marvellous  exploits.  These  French,  who 
are  supposed  to  be  envious,  loved  the 
strength  of  their  comrade. 

Why  haven't  they  developed  their  mus- 
cles in  the  same  manner?  They  did  not 
lack  the  desire:  but  their  teachers  had  other 
things  in  mind  for  them  to  do.  For  fifty 
years  sophisms  and  alcohol  have  been  dis- 
tributed everywhere.  Our  race  would  be  a 
fine  one  if  it  had  not  been  spoiled  in  that  way. 
The  more  profound  attributes  are  being 
reborn  in  the  war;  the  blood  is  regaining  its 
colour  and  its  richness.  Men  of  thirty-five, 
old  before  their  time,  are  being  rejuvenated 
little  by  little.  The  corporal  whose  duty 
it  is  to  parade  the  sick  every  morning 
for  medical  inspection  very  often  has  nothing 
to  do.  How  easy  it  would  be  to  set  free 
the  strength  now  merely  latent  in  these 
men. 

They  delighted  me  especially  one  January 
morning.  The  desolate  little  village  which 
was  to  be  our  home  for  three  days  was 

132 


STRENGTH 

covered  with  snow.  Big  shells,  bursting  here 
and  there,  were  making  enormous  spots  on 
the  roads  and  in  the  gardens,  like  blots  on  a 
white  page.  We  went  out  during  a  quiet 
spell  and  one  of  us  hearing  shrieks  from  a 
farmyard,  ran  to  investigate  and  came  back 
saying: 

"Come  quick,  there  is  such  a  fight  going 
on!" 

It  was  a  fight  truly.  I  found  the  men 
of  my  section,  old  and  young,  "firing  at 
will" — using  all  their  strength.  Ammu- 
nition was  plentiful ;  they  only  had  to  stoop 
and  fill  their  big  hands  with  snow.  The 
balls  thrown  with  a  powerful  sweep  of  the 
arm  were  finding  their  target  against  the 
backs  or  heads  of  comrades  from  another 
section.  A  bearded  corporal,  usually  silent 
and  sedate,  was  shouting  and  running  about 
more  than  any  of  the  others. 

"How  is  it,"  I  said  to  him,  "that  you, 
too,  are  fighting?" 

"They  are  Boches,  my  Lieutenant." 

"But  you  are  tired  out     .     .     ." 

"Never  mind;  it  is  war — and  we'll  get 
them  yet!" 

I  don't  know  which  side  "got"  the  other. 
We  stayed  quite  a  long  time,  delighting  in 

133 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

this  extraordinary  spectacle.  Poilus  are 
usually  represented  as  shapeless,  muddy, 
and  heavy.  They  can  be  handsome,  too, 
these  "types" — when  they  want  to  be. 

I  found  beauty  in  the  ugliest  man  of  my 
company  one  day.  A  reforme,  with  only 
slight  training  for  the  military  service,  had 
been  sent  to  us  in  the  spring.  He  bore  on 
his  face  and  form  the  signs  of  alcoholic 
heredity. 

After  a  few  weeks  the  commander  of  his 
section  declared  that,  although  physically  a 
runt,  he  would  become  an  attentive  and  cour- 
ageous soldier.  I  questioned  him  several 
times,  but  in  vain.  He  answered  like  a 
half-witted  person  and  I  wondered  how 
that  creature,  mentally  and  physically  im- 
perfect, could  hold  his  place.  But  one  day 
I  found  him  in  a  boyau  with  a  shovel  in  his 
hand.  He  had  taken  off  his  coat,  his  shirt 
was  open,  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  his  cap  on 
the  back  of  his  head.  His  hair  was  matted 
on  his  forehead  by  perspiration.  I  was 
struck  by  the  easy  movements  with  which 
he  took  the  heavy  earth  that  his  comrade 
had  dug,  and  threw  it  out  on  the  top  of  the 
bank  with  his  shovel.  It  seemed  as  if  he 
were  using  his  muscles  with  artistic  pcr- 


STRENGTH 

faction  for  the  joy  of  my  eyes.  There  is 
no  dance  as  graceful  as  the  gesture  of  the 
blacksmith  beating  the  anvil,  or  that  of 
the  ploughman  wrestling  with  the  earth. 
Without  his  strength  this  poor  wretch 
would  be  only  a  waif,  unworthy  of  living. 
He  has  not  succumbed  to  his  intellectual 
misery  and  the  apparent  decrepitude  of  his 
physique,  because  when  very  young  he  was 
taught  how  to  use  a  shovel.  He  will  carry 
the  imprint  of  his  father's  faults  and  vices 
to  his  grave  but,  because  his  muscles  have 
been  cultivated,  a  little  beauty  will  always 
shine  under  the  repellent  mask  which  marks 
his  origin. 

It  is  natural  that  we  should  love  strength 
here.  Success  on  the  battlefield  goes  to 
the  most  daring,  but  only  if  his  limbs 
be  trained  to  serve  his  courage.  The 
war  is  a  school  for  the  soul  and  for  the 
body.  We  are  not  good  soldiers  because 
our  cause  is  just,  but  because  we  have  clear 
minds  backed  by  solid  fists. 

When  I  was  twenty  I  prepared  for  my 
degree  at  the  "  Faculte  d'  Aix."  One  even- 
ing a  friend  and  I  were  conversing  under 
the  ancient  trees  of  the  Cours  Mirabeau. 
We  were  wishing  for  a  war.  We  were  talk- 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

ing  philosophy  instead  of  politics.  We  felt 
that  life  was  too  soft  and  were  trying  to 
find  a  means  of  giving  back  courage  to  the 
men  of  our  time  and  to  ourselves,  who 
were  no  better  than  the  others.  We  came 
to  the  conclusion  that,  at  the  bottom  of 
human  cowardice,  there  lies  an  instinct 
which  God  has  put  in  our  souls  but  which 
we  must  not  abuse :  the  instinct  of  self  pres- 
ervation. In  order  to  remain  alive  and  to 
preserve  our  precious  flesh  from  every 
scratch  we  have  made  life  comfortable. 
The  aim  of  our  ambition  has  become  ma- 
terial well-being,  and  happiness  means  a 
bed  of  cotton  wool. 

"To  that,  my  friend,  there  is  but  one 
remedy:  let  us  charge  the  Prussian  bayonets 
with  uncovered  breasts." 

"And  be  pierced  by  them?" 

"Oh,  no!  We  will  bayonet  them!  But 
when  one  has  been  ready  to  sacrifice  one's 
life,  one  no  longer  finds  one's  happiness 
only  in  sleeping  comfortably,  but  in  living 
bravely." 

Thus  the  constant  protection  of  his  body 
abases  man.  When  his  skin  has  met  trial 
by  fire  and  weapon,  he  becomes  once  more 
a  noble  creature. 

136 


STRENGTH 

Since  that  day  I  have  conceived  a  great 
respect  for  strength,  without  which  courage 
is  useless.  This  youthful  conversation  has 
left  an  imperishable  trace  on  my  soul.  I 
still  remember  the  name  of  my  friend  but 
I  do  not  know  how  life  has  dealt  with  him. 
If  he  is  serving  to-day,  with  what  ardour 
must  he  be  fighting  and  offering  his  life ! 

The  strength  of  a  nation  is  made  up  of 
the  strength  of  its  individuals.  At  this 
solemn  hour  when  it  is  a  question  of  winning 
from  the  German  race — so  numerous,  so 
methodically  trained — our  past  faults  hang 
like  weights  on  our  arms.  But  we  are  a 
strong  people  whom  we  have  vainly  tried 
to  degrade.  We  will  dominate  the  enemy, 
and  when  we  have  obtained  peace,  we 
shall  know  how  to  prevent  the  misuse  of  our 
power. 

To  our  misfortune  and  that  of  Europe 
we  disdained  strength.  If  we  had  called 
columns  of  robust  men  to  support  immortal 
France  and  if,  with  strong  arms  and  sound 
brain  we  had  demonstrated  our  valour,  it 
is  doubtful  whether  the  nations  would  be 
at  war  now. 

Those  among  us  who  return  will  teach 
their  sons  the  value  and  beauty  of  strength. 

137 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 


VIII 

"The  god  of  the  Armies" 

A"T  OFFICER   entered  the  cathedral 
of  A at  six  in  the  morning.    At 
eleven  he  would  be  in  his  trench  at 
the  front.     He  must  remain  there  fifteen 
days — fifteen  days  without  being  able  to 
seek  religious  comfort  save  in  the  little  church 

of  C where  he  was  usually  quartered. 

His  train  was  due  to  leave  in  forty  minutes. 
He  had  time  only  to  pass  rapidly  through 
the  wonderful  building,  to  say  a  short 
prayer,  and  fly.  But  the  grandeur  of  the 
place  arrested  him.  The  day  was  barely 
breaking  and  had  not  yet  penetrated  these 
vaults.  At  the  end  of  the  immense  nave  the 
flame  of  a  candle  flickered.  By  its  light  a 
priest  was  officiating,  alone  and  distant. 
His  face  came  out  in  black  against  the 
brightly  lighted  page  of  the  prayer  book. 
A  soldier  was  moving  near  him,  giving  the 

138 


"  THE  GOD  OF  THE  ARMIES" 

responses.  An  old  woman  was  dusting  a 
few  chairs.  It  was  the  right  time  and  the 
right  place  to  approach  God  for  whom  all 
souls  are  longing  during  these  tragic  days. 
The  booted  visitor  postponed  his  exami- 
nation of  the  cathedral  until  another  time. 
He  had  broken  his  fast,  but  the  fasting  law 
had  been  abolished  for  those  who  are 
fighting.  He  searched  his  conscience  rather 
rapidly,  in  a  soldierly  manner,  and  ap- 
proached the  old  woman. 

"A  confessor  please,  Madame." 

"At  this  hour?  What  are  you  thinking 
about?" 

"Why  not  at  this  hour?" 

"There  is  only  the  vicar  here  now  and 
he  is  saying  mass:  surely  you  can  wait?" 

Charming  creature!  He  looked  at  her 
without  exhibiting  his  distaste.  There  is 
always  an  advantage  in  keeping  calm  in 
adversity  and  his  wisdom  was  at  once 
rewarded. 

"There  is  a  soldjer  over  there  if  you 
insist.  He  is  a  priest."  The  officer  was 
for  a  moment  a  trifle  upset,  and  stood  con- 
sidering. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  "ask  him." 

The  old  woman  trotted  off  to  get  the  poilu 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

who,  on  his  knees,  was  praying  in  the  rear 
of  a  column.  After  a  few  words  with  him 
she  signalled  to  the  officer  to  go  into  the 
vestry. 

The  latter  found  the  soldier  awaiting  him, 
standing  at  attention.  He  timidly  lifted 
his  bearded  face  and  saluted;  then  squarely 
meeting  the  eyes  of  his  superior,  said : 

"My  Lieutenant,  here  it  is." 

He  pointed  to  a  devotional  chair,  and 
the  penitent  having  saluted  in  his  turn 
fell  on  his  knees. 

Never  had  the  words  of  absolution  seemed 
more  sacred.  I  do  not  wish  to  play  upon 
the  emotion  of  the  reader  by  speaking  of 
the  tears  of  the  officer  as  romantic  writers 
would  do.  The  fact  is,  nevertheless,  that 
they  were  burning  his  eyelids  when  the 
priest  said  softly: 

"Go  in  peace,  my  son,  and  pray  for  me." 

Immediately  after  these  words  the  priest 
stood  up,  and  heels  together,  head  erect, 
saluted.  The  officer  returned  his  salute 
gravely. 

A  few  moments  later  he  had  received 
communion  and  we  met  at  the  station. 

We  boarded  the  same  train.  I  had  just 
been  enjoying  two  days  leave  of  absence.  I 

140 


"THE  GOD  OF  THE  4RMIES" 

had  been  home,  kissed  my  children,  and  now 
was  on  my  way  back  to  the  firing  line,  like 
a  child  returning  to  boarding  school.  But 
one  is  reasonable  at  my  age  and  instead  of 
moaning  at  the  new  separation,  which 
might  prove  a  long,  perhaps  even  an  eternal 
one,  I  was  living  over,  in  rapture,  the 
hours  that  I  had  just  enjoyed.  The  train 
stopped — necessarily  so,  as  the  next  station 
was  in  the  hands  of  the  Germans.  We 
started  on  foot  toward  the  camp.  Lost  in 
thought,  we  were  walking  at  a  good  pace, 
along  a  road  bordered  with  hedges,  when  a 
terrific  noise  suddenly  startled  us  out  of 
our  revery.  Two  hundred  yards  away  a 
io5-millimetre  shell  had  just  burst.  Thus 
the  war  tore  us  away  from  our  pleasant 
dreams  and  impressed  its  violence  on  our 
senses  and  in  our  souls. 

At  the  risk  of  astonishing  you,  I  must 
tell  you  how  we  felt,  believe  me  who  will. 

We  both  saluted  war  as  an  old  friend — 
lost  and  found  once  more !  Our  cheerfulness 
was  so  great  that  I  was  at  first  ashamed  of 
it.  Then  I  remembered  how  once,  after  a 
long  voyage  during  which  I  had  run  con- 
siderable risk  and  experienced  exceptional 
emotions,  my  heart  had  sunk  when  the 
141 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

port  of  Dunkirk  had  appeared  in  the  dis- 
tance under  a  peaceful  sky. 

It  was  that  same  phenomenon,  but  this 
time  inverted:  with  the  same  cause,  only 
the  taste  for  danger. 

We  all  hate  the  whistle  of  the  bullets, 
and  yet  the  daylight  has  barely  left  before 
we  climb  out  on  the  trench  parapet.  The 
feeling  experienced  in  facing  peril;  the 
pride  that  one  takes  in  holding  oneself 
erect,  without  bending  an  inch,  in  the  fields 
where  the  simplest  prudence  commands  one 
to  lie  flat  on  the  ground,  have  nothing  to 
do  with  heroism.  The  chauffeur  who  risks 
his  life  for  the  pleasure  of  speeding  is  not 
called  heroic.  I  recognize  in  my  desire 
for  danger  the  liking  for  forbidden  fruit, 
and  perhaps  there  is  more  vice  than  virtue 
about  it. 

However,  I  am  thankful  to  say  that  I 
found  something  else,  more  noble  in  our  joy 
at  again  encountering  war,  that  day. 

The  ordinary  coat  and  bowler  hat  are 
exceedingly  ugly.  When  one  has  for  many 
months  seen  only  soldiers  in  uniform, 
civilian  garb  appears  ridiculous.  I  well 
remember  the  stupefaction  with  which  I 
gazed  on  the  first  civilian  I  encountered 

142 


"  THE  GOD  OF  THE  ARMIES" 

after  long  months  at  the  front.  With  two 
comrades  from  the  engineering  corps,  I 
had  just  arrived  at  A by  motor-car. 

"Gracious,  how  ugly!"  said  one. 

"And  to  think  that  when  peace  comes  we 
will  have  to  go  back  to  that!"  said  the 
other. 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  that,  in  some 
ways,  war  is  a  more  noble  spectacle 
than  peace.  It  is  beautiful  in  the  same 
way  that  a  great  fire  may  be  beautiful. 
Nature  is  beautiful  in  spite  of  her  peace- 
fulness,  but  a  city  in  peace  mars  its  beauty 
with  mediocrity  and  vice.  If  immodesty 
in  the  dress  of  women,  and  hideousness  in 
that  of  men,  are  manifestations  of  Peace, 
then  war  is  preferable. 

I  came  back  to  war  as  to  the  most  thrilling 
of  spectacles.  The  whole  world  is  eagerly 
watching  it.  Those  in  the  first  row  are  the 
only  ones  who  really  see  it,  and  I  am  going 
to  resume  my  place  there.  The  front  is 
the  special  gallery  in  which  the  privileged 
ones  are  allowed  to  stand,  while  the  crowd 
is  struggling  to  see  from  the  rear.  For  two 
days  I  had  turned  away  from  that  choice 
position  and  already  my  frivolous  brain 
had  assumed  other  cares.  The  bursting 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

of  the  shell  was  like  the  gavel  of  the  stage 
manager,  and  my  soul  became  attentive 
once  more.  However,  it  could  remain  pious, 
too,  because  the  war  stimulates  the  soul 
and  helps  it  to  ascend  from  the  dust.  Up- 
ward, toward  what?  Happy  those  who 
believe  in  God.  I  pity  those  who  do  not. 
Some  of  them  are  the  victims  of  despair ;  while 
some  instead  of  putting  their  trust  in  the 
Master,  as  we  all  ought  to  do,  put  it  in 
empty  words  in  which  they  find  no  comfort. 

Enemies  of  God  do  not  exist  at  the  front; 
they  are  found  only  behind  it.  Anti- 
clericalism  begins  timidly  back  toward  the 
kitchens.  It  is  a  little  bolder  around  the 
supply  depots  and  I  learn  by  letters  from 
the  rear  that  it  is  loudest  in  the  cafes  in  the 
provinces.  From  the  Lys  to  the  Vosges  it  is 
unknown. 

It  is  undoubtedly  the  nearness  of  our 
neighbour,  Death,  which  has  accomplished 
this  miracle.  It  may  not  seem  a  noble 
thing  or  creditable  to  religion  for  one  to 
turn  toward  it  only  in  times  of  fear  or  danger 
of  death.  Sailors  are  supposed  to  be  more 
devout  than  other  men  because  they  are 
exposed  to  more  risks,  yet  I  have  known  an 
old  sea  captain  who  believed  neither  in 

144 


"THE  GOD  OF  THE  ARMIES" 

God  nor  Devil.  I  was  on  board  his  ship 
one  day  crossing  the  Raz-de-Sein.  •*  He,  too, 
loved  danger  and,  although  it  was  an  im- 
prudence, in  order  to  gain  a  little  time  he 
took  the  shortest  route  and  risked  the  loss 
of  his  ship.  Never  have  I  heard  a  man 
swear  as  he  did  that  day.  I  was  young 
and  unable  to  understand  how  a  man  could 
be  blasphemous  while  facing  death. 

Take  other  examples  which  will  bring 
you  back  to  the  war.  Do  you  consider  all 
the  victorious  armies  which  have  made 
history  for  France  aggregations  of  saints? 
Do  you  think  that  the  grognards  of  Napoleon 
painted  by  Raffet  have  devout  faces?  If 
Virtue,  caught  in  a  trap,  begged  you  to  offer 
her  a  refuge,  would  you  dare  take  her  to 
a  soldiers'  camp? 

No,  it  is  not  danger  which  lifts  one  toward 
God,  nor  is  it  even  the  fear  of  death.  Dur- 
ing our  entire  life  we  are  in  danger,  and 
death  spies  upon  us,  beginning  at  the  cradle. 
We  are  aware  of  it,  but  few  of  us  give  it  any 
attention.  The  cabin-boys  on  ships  cross 
themselves  on  leaving  the  harbour  and  then 
forget.  Soldiers,  when  they  hear  the  first 
bullets,  know  what  will  happen  if  they  are 
hit:  but  habit  influences  them  and  frivolity 

'45 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

wins  them  back.  Sailors,  soldiers,  civilians 
at  the  rear,  we  are  all,  sometime  or  other, 
condemned  to  die.  The  important  thing 
is  to  realize  it. 

The  truth  is  that  religion  flourishes  when- 
ever men  pause  and  begin  to  think.  Be- 
cause this  war  is  being  carried  on  by  people 
who  are  not  professional  soldiers,  each  one 
has  been  uprooted  from  his  normal  place 
and  consequently  from  his  routine.  It  has 
put  each  one  in  such  a  novel  position  that 
even  those  most  limited  mentally  are  anx- 
ious to  understand  what  it  is  that  is  happen- 
ing to  them.  They  are  forced  to  think  of 
their  destiny  and,  willingly  or  not,  they 
turn  to  the  God  whom  they  learned  to  know 
and  pray  to  at  their  mothers'  knees. 

Curious  things  happen  every  day.  Once  a 
comrade  received  a  large  parcel  from  a  pious 
woman  whom  he  knew  only  slightly.  We 
helped  him  to  cut  the  string  and  open  the 
box.  The  arrival  of  the  post  is  always  the 
most  important  happening  of  the  day  and, 
invariably,  everyone  is  there  prying  into 
one  another's  boxes.  He — or,  more  strictly 
speaking,  we — took  out  in  turn:  socks,  soap, 
pencils,  patriotic  post  cards,  a  candle,  a 
pipe,  a  box  of  chocolates,  cigarette  paper, 
146 


"THE  GOD  OF  THE  ARMIES" 

packages  of  tobacco,  large  plaid  handker- 
chiefs and  woollen  helmets.  At  the  bottom 
was  a  big  envelope  bearing  these  words: 
"To  a  soldier  of  France."  It  contained 
this  classical  letter  from  the  unknown  bene- 
factress : 

"  Dear  soldier,  please  accept  these  souve- 
nirs. Take  care  of  yourself  and  be  brave. 
We  love  you  and  are  praying  for  you." 

Pinned  to  the  top  of  the  letter  was  a 
medal  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  one  of  those 
penny  medals,  rather  ugly,  but  of  large  size 
and  very  vivid. 

All  these  things  had  to  be  divided  among 
the  men.  The  next  day,  in  the  trench,  my 
friend  selected  a  group  of  soldiers  and  went 
toward  them  with  extended  hand.  He  had 
in  it  the  pipe,  one  package  of  tobacco,  a 
wonderful  cake  of  soap,  and  the  medal. 

The  eyes  of  the  men  brightened  but  they 
hesitated.  Among  them  was  an  extraor- 
dinary character,  a  kind  of  gutter-snipe, 
who  came  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Lille. 
His  face  was  that  of  a  cut-throat  with  the 
blackest,  most  piercing  eyes  imaginable. 
Our  Northern  girls  frequently  have  beauti- 
ful dark  eyes,  a  souvenir  of  the  time  of  the 
Spanish  domination.  The  eyes  of  this  boy 

H7 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

were,  however,  wicked  and  inquisitive.  He 
had  a  low  forehead,  ugly  lips,  and  a  Christ- 
like  beard.  His  most  striking  features  were 
his  cheeks,  which  were  always  swollen 
with  a  mouth  full  of  tobacco.  He  loved 
to  chew  tobacco.  Every  time  he  met  one 
of  us  he  always  asked: 

"Et  ch'toubaque?" 

Which  meant:  "My  Lieutenant,  give 
me  a  little  tobacco."  It  was  the  only  way 
he  could  say  it  in  his  jargon.  It  was  im- 
possible to  refuse  him  after  looking  at  his 
eyes.  Usually  they  were  cunning,  but  he 
could  make  them  so  humble  and  funny! 

"He  will  certainly  snatch  the  toubaque," 
thought  I. 

I  was  not  mistaken  about  the  snatching. 
He  snatched  something  before  any  of  the 
others  could  have  a  chance,  saying: 

"Mz,  fprinds  V medal".  (Me,  I  take  the 
medal !) 

Quickly  he  dropped  the  Virgin  into  a 
filthy  purse. 

This  happened  quite  near  the  beginning  of 
the  winter.  I  had  not  yet  lived  long  enough 
with  all  these  men  to  understand  them  well. 
I  must  own  that  my  astonishment  sur- 
passed all  limits. 

148 


"THE  GOD  OF  THE  ARMIES" 

To-day  I  know  that  they  all  have  medals; 
some  keep  them  in  their  pockets;  some, 
around  their  neck;  others,  pinned  to  their 
shirt;  a  few,  on  their  coat;  many,  on  the 
front  of  their  caps.  They  also  have  flags 
and  enamelled  badges  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
with  blue  borders,  white  background  and,  in 
the  middle,  a  red  heart  surmounted  by  a  cross. 

When  I  first  came  I  was  told  that  a  cer- 
tain corporal  was  an  anarchist  and  to  be- 
ware of  a  certain  soldier  who  was  an  anti- 
militarist  and  a  revolutionary.  Both  of 
these  men,  like  their  comrades,  have  these 
emblems  pinned  on  their  chests. 

I  know  a  sergeant,  a  great,  big,  warm- 
blooded fellow,  from  the  regular  army. 
He  is  always  too  hot,  and,  besides,  his  coat 
gets  in  his  way.  He  is  always  roaming 
around  the  camp  or  in  the  trenches  in  his 
sweater.  On  that  sweater  I  have  counted 
eleven  medals  of  all  shapes  and  colours 
hanging  to  two  or  three  safety  pins. 

Probably  their  wives,  mothers,  and  sis- 
ters send  them  from  the  rear.  But  why 
do  they  wear  them  so  readily?  And  why 
such  ostentation  when,  in  civil  life,  their 
greatest  care  was  to  hide  the  little  Chris- 
tianity they  possessed? 
149 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

At  first  I  misjudged  them.  I  remembered 
how  the  Norman  peasants  tie  medals  around 
the  necks  of  their  sick  calves,  hoping  to  cure 
them  in  that  way.  I  thought:  'They  are 
superstitious  and  think  all  that  tin  is  of 
great  worth  in  God's  eyes.  They  fear 
death,  and  to  preserve  themselves  they 
cover  their  bodies  with  fetishes  and  amu- 
lets." 

This  may  be  true,  to  a  certain  extent, 
but  it  is  not  all  the  truth.  There  is  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  real  piety  in  all  devotion 
to  medals.  Many  of  these  emblems  are 
revered  in  memory  of  the  dear  ones  at  home, 
who  said  when  their  men  went  away  on 
that  fateful  second  of  August:  "Take 
that  and  keep  it  on  you  always."  It  is 
the  only  reminder  of  home  except  for  the 
greasy  photographs  always  carried  in  their 
pockets. 

That  reminder  is  a  religious  image  and 
they  are  quite  willing  to  cherish  Our  Lady, 
or  Saint  Michael,  or  Joan  of  Arc,  on  account 
of  the  old  mother  or  the  wife  who  is  crying 
at  home  and  who  writes  such  moving  letters. 

Do  not  let  us  abuse  the  rear.  It  is  from 
there  that  those  letters  which  restore  our 
courage  come.  No  later  than  this  morning 

150 


"THE  GOD  OF  THE  4RMIES" 

a  soldier  showed  me  one  he  had  just  re- 
ceived. It  was  from  his  wife  telling  him, 
in  words  that  he  did  not  understand,  of 
some  trouble  she  was  in,  in  regard  to  her 
allowance  from  the  Government.  I  did  not 
exactly  understand  her  difficulty,  but  I  saw 
that  the  poor  woman  was  unhappy  al- 
though trying  to  be  resigned.  She  is  going 
to  have  a  baby  and  spoke  of  her  sadness  at 
not  being  able  to  have  her  "man"  with  her 
for  the  birth.  She  wrote:  "Let  us  pray 
God  to  make  the  child  I  bear  a  good 
Christian."  It  is  a  beautiful  sentence.  I 
wondered  while  I  read  it  whether  the  poor 
woman  had  not  instinctively  found  the 
most  perfect  way  of  serving  God.  Her 
religion  touched  me  as  much  as  that  of  my 
medal-bearers. 

There  are  two  elements  in  the  devotion 
we  render  God:  the  spirit  and  discipline. 
A  perfect  Christian  not  only  thinks  ^  but 
acts  his  religion.  When  he  thinks:  it  is 
spiritual.  When  he  acts:  he  practises  his 
religion  and  obeys  its  commandments. 
Most  Christians  are  only  men  and,  there- 
fore, imperfect. 

There  are  those  who  emphasize  the  spirit- 
ual, and  whose  thoughts  are  continually 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

dwelling  at  such  lofty  altitudes  that  they 
neglect  altogether  the  practical  aspects  of 
religion.  Such  are  the  authors  of  neo- 
christianity  and  new  thought.  They  pur- 
sue a  nebulous  God,  in  a  nebulous  sky,  but 
would  disdain  to  seek  him  by  kneeling  in  a 
church. 

But  during  the  years  just  preceding  the 
war  there  has  been  a  real  reaction  toward 
practical  Christianity  with  the  emphasis 
laid  on  discipline.  Many  young  sons  of 
theorists  or  sceptics  began  to  attend  church 
services,  say  their  prayers,  and  go  to  com- 
munion frequently.  In  their  every-day  life 
they  were  gay,  merry,  and  fond  of  out-of- 
door  sports.  They  enjoyed  physical  and 
moral  health  and  were  not  bothered  by 
hazy  anxieties  nor  endless  speculations. 
They  were  Christians  and  followed  their 
religion;  that  was  all. 

This  kind  of  religion  is  perfectly  well 
adapted  to  the  life  we  are  leading  at  present. 
What  would  happen  if  we  engaged  in  con- 
tinual speculations  regarding  our  military 
duties?  As  soldiers  our  task  is  to  use  our 
entire  efforts  in  performing  them.  It  is  the 
same  with  our  Christian  duties;  this  is  not 
the  time  for  discussion  but  for  prayer. 

152 


"THE  GOD  OF  THE  4RMIES" 

There  are  here  two  officers,  far,  far  above 
me  in  rank,  who  evidently  have  this  same 
idea.  I  occasionally  find  them  at  twilight 
walking  in  a  solitary  boyau  telling  their 
beads.  They  are  very  much  embarrassed 
when  they  see  me  and  must  respond  to  my 
salute,  and  evidently  regard  me  as  an  in- 
truder. Yet  sometimes  I  stop  to  talk  be- 
cause here,  the  least  word  exchanged  brings 
joy  and  pleasure.  When  I  leave,  they  resume 
their  prayer  although  they  do  not  know  ex- 
actly where  they  left  off,  and  then  they  forget 
their  troubles,  the  war,  and  everything  else, 
in  proclaiming  to  the  Virgin,  with  the  stars 
to  witness,  that  they  bow  to  her  and  that  her 
Son  is  blessed. 

I  have  never  attended  an  open-air  mass, 
but  it  must  be  highly  impressive.  In  the 
war  area  I  have  seen  nothing  but  low  mass, 
held  in  the  little  church,  back  near  our  rest 
camp.  The  participants  are  usually  two 
or  three  small  groups  of  soldiers,  with  per- 
haps an  officer  or  two  sitting  in  the  front 
row  and  sometimes  an  old  woman  close  to 
the  pulpit.  A  soldier  officiates  as  priest 
and,  from  beneath  his  surplice,  protrude 
his  uniform  and  huge  military  boots.  At 
the  end  of  the  service  each  one  receives 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

communion.  Although  not  numerous,  the 
prayers  of  these  faithful  people  ought  to 
protect  the  others.  I  am  sure  that  God 
must  regard  with  a  kindly  eye  these  camps 
from  which,  each  morning,  ascend  a  few 
devout  prayers. 

On  the  Sundays  when  we  happen  to  be  in 
the  rear  of  the  lines,  resting — which  occurs 
but  rarely — the  church  is  Full.  On  Easter 

day  we  were  in  camp  at  M , where  the 

church  has  been  damaged  by  shell  fire. 
The  big  nave  is  pierced  and  the  main  altar 
open  to  the  sky,  while  the  choir  is  littered 
with  plaster,  broken  pieces  of  iron,  and  bits 
from  the  fallen  roof.  The  altar  on  the 
right  is  broken.  The  one  on  the  left  has 
not  suffered,  and  toward  it  is  turned  the 
attention  of  the  crowd  in  uniform  which 
has  gathered  here  to-day  braying  the 
draughts,  coughing  loud  and  praying  little. 
However,  they  are  an  attentive  audience, 
submissive  to  the  articles  of  the  creed, 
and  obedient  to  the  commandments  of 
the  church.  Can  one  ask  more  of  people 
whose  heads  have  been  crammed  for  so 
many  years  with  the  materialistic  the- 
ories of  the  demagogues.  We  may  blame 
those  who  lead  and  guide  public  opinion 


"THE  GOD  OF  THE  ARMIES" 

but  not  those  who  follow.  The  latter  have 
been  misguided  by  their  very  virtues: 
willingness  and  simplicity  of  heart.  When 
they  pin  medals  on  their  shirts  they  perform 
a  positive  act  beside  which  piles  of  books, 
written  by  denying  philosophers,  are  only 
trash. 

When  a  poor  woman,  on  the  verge  of 
becoming  a  mother,  thinks  of  praying  God 
to  make  her  child  a  good  Christian  it  seems 
like  a  miracle,  for  it  is  a  long  time  since  any- 
one has  spoken  like  that  in  France.  She 
does  not  ask  for  a  saint,  but  for  an  honest 
boy,  and  naturally  the  old  words,  used  by 
her  grandmother,  come  back  to  her  lips. 
She  says  "good  Christian"  for  "good  son" 
and  renders  thus  to  God  and  to  religion 
a  homage  compared  with  which  the  finest 
monument  is  of  little  value. 

What  is  the  explanation  of  this  new  birth 
of  faith,  this  return  to  the  ^  words  and 
practices  of  old  ?  It  is  the  fruit  of  all  our 
past  efforts  and  sufferings  of  the  sacrifices 
made  during  the  difficult  years  France  has 
passed.  I  do  not  wish  to  criticize  the 
leaders  of  the  Church,  but  it  is  the  more 
humble  pastors  who  obtain  their  reward 
to-day;  those  who  have  "held  on"  as  we 

JSS- 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

say  at  the  front;  those  who,  in  spite  of 
opposing  wind  and  tide,  have  been  good 
pilots,  in  the  words  of  our  brothers  the 
sailors;  those  who  have  steadily  opposed 
the  arguments  of  the  sophists  and,  in  spite 
of  all,  maintained  the  simple  traditions 
of  the  Church  and  the  precepts  of  Christi- 
anity. They  erected  shrines  at  all  the 
cross-roads,  and  the  crowd  passed  by 
without  respect.  To-day,  in  the  general 
devastation  of  war,  the  only  thing  left 
standing  upright  is  the  cross. 

Come  and  see  it  with  me.  It  is  in  the 
centre  of  an  immense  plain,  bordered  on 
the  German  side  by  a  shallow  valley.  For 
a  distance  of  four  kilometres  one  can  see 
nothing  but  landy-once  cultivated,  but  now 
desolate  and  wild.  A  thin  curtain  of 
foliage  opposite  hides  a  village  held  by  the 
enemy.  Far  away  to  the  right  a  row  of 
young  trees  indicates  a  road.  It  is  only  the 
slimness  of  these  trees  which  has  saved 
them.  All  the  others  Have  been  cut  down 
and  used  to  line  the  dugouts  or  cover  the 
trench  shelters.  One  never  meets  a  living 
soul,  for  those  who  go  to  or  return  from  the 
front  pass  by  way  of  the  boyaux  which  bur- 
row in  all  directions  through  these  fields. 

156 


"THE  GOD  OF  THE  ARMIES" 

Come!  You  need  not  hesitate;  at  this 
distance  the  bullets  have  spent  their  force. 
If  the  Germans  see  us  through  their  field 
glasses  jand  send  a  few  shells  our  way,  there 
will  be  time  enough  to  throw  ourselves  in 
this  boyau,  which,  although  unnoticeable, 
runs  along  this  road  only  four  yards 
away.  Now  look;  above  that  rise  of  the 
ground,  which  hid  it  until  now,  stands  the 
thin  silhouette  of  a  cross.  It  is  of  iron 
and  the  Christ  is  dolorously  bending  his 
head.  About  its  base  are  four  stumps  cut 
off  almost  level  with  the  ground.  They  are 
all  that  remains  of  the  beautiful  trees  which 
once  sheltered  this  pastoral  shrine.  It 
stands  alone  amongst  a  labyrinth  of  boyaux. 
All  around  are  shejl-holes  filled  with  muddy 
water  after  the  rain. 

From  this  place,  at  night,  you  can  see 
the  illuminating  shells  of  the  Germans  as- 
cending not  only  from  one  but  from  three 
sides.  Our  trenches,  in  this  region,  curve 
forward  in  a  salient.  It  is  as  if  the  enemy 
had  been  obliged  to  draw  a  respectful  half 
circle  round  the  image  of  Christ. 

Let  us  go  nearer.  Resting  on  the  pierced 
feet  is  a  bunch  of  withered  flowers.  How 
came  they  there,  and  when?  Perhaps  the 

157 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

soldier  whose  piety  urged  him  to  leave  this 
offering  is  now  occupying  one  of  the  graves, 
marked  with  small  white  crosses  of  wood, 
which  are  lying  all  about;  or,  if  he  be 
alive,  he  may  be  over  there  digging  in  some 
boyau,  or  on  guard  duty  in  some  trench, 
watching,  that  all  France  may  sleep  behind 
him.  Whatever  the  case,  some  man  has 
lifted  his  eyes  toward  this  image  and  one 
day  has  even  prayed  there. 

At  the  change  of  guard  we  pass  beneath 
the  extended  arms  of  this  Christ,  on  the 
way  into  the  front  line.  I  don't  know 
whether  many  of  us  say  a  prayer  to  Him 
when  we  cross  his  gaunt  shadow  in  the 
moonlight,  but  God  will  remember  the  one, 
be  he  ever  so  humble,  who  once  put  down 
his  flowers  and  called  on  Him  there.  He  has 
commanded  that  His  image  be  not  destroyed 
and  that  it  remain  here  on  our  horizon. 
With  head  gently  bowed  and  wide-open 
arms,  He  watches  over  the  dead  of  the  plain 
and  blesses  the  living,  devout  or  otherwise 
who — covered  with  dust,  their  backs  bent 
under  the  weight  of  their  knapsacks — go 
in  long,  silent  columns  to  take  their  fighting 
post. 


158 


BRAVERY 


IX 
Bravery 

WHY  is  it  that  the  French  show  so 
much  bravery  in  war  and  so  little 
in  peace? 

Everyone  here  is  courageous.  There  has 
been  great  discussion  as  to  which  re- 
quired the  more  courage — going  forward  to 
the  assault,  or  holding  on  under  heavy 
artillery  fire.  I  don't  hesitate  to  give  my 
own  answer:  the  moral  courage  exhibited 
by  certain  territorials  in  keeping  cool  under 
the  most  pitiless  trench  bombardment  is 
even  more  admirable  than  the  ardour  of 
their  younger  comrades  while  running  for- 
ward to  a  bayonet  charge.  This  war  has 
required  from  an  entire  nation  in  arms 
qualities  which  never  before  had  been  de- 
manded even  from  regular  armies. 

Almost  all  regiments  have  adopted  dogs 
found  in  some  abandoned  village.  Our 

'59 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

company  has  two  or  three,  one  of  which 
lives  with  the  officers.  He  is  a  good-looking 
animal,  supple,  playful,  and  a  marvellous 
rat  hunter.  He  is  amiable  with  men  but 
very  quarrelsome  with  his  brother  dogs  and 
does  not  hesitate  to  attack  even  the  biggest 
and  strongest.  This  beast,  enthusiastic  in 
assault  and  a  heroic  fighter,  would  be  a  model 
of  warlike  virtues  if  he  weren't  afraid  of 
the  cannon.  Poor  dog!  When  a  bomb 
bursts  he  puts  down  his  ears,  his  tail  goes 
between  his  legs,  and  he  hides  under  our 
legs,  pressing  against  us,  trembling  and 
timid.  Nearly  all  dogs  behave  in  this  way. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  black  people, 
they  love  to  fight  with  the  knife  and  are 
not  afraid  of  the  most  bloody  struggle, 
but  under  the  shells  they  often  lose  courage. 

One  must  have  intelligence  and  reason- 
ing power  to  resist  the  fire  of  concealed 
artillery,  whereas  instinct  is  enough  in  open 
fighting.  I  do  not  despise  instinct.  Natural 
courage  is  a  gift  from  God.  It  would  be  just 
as  foolish  to  despise  it  as  to  disdain  in- 
telligence. It  is  an  enviable  quality,  but 
unequally  divided  among  men.  Those  who 
possess  it  have  an  indisputable  advantage 
and  they  become  leaders.  But  in  measuring 

160 


BRA7ERY 

relative  courage  in  the  mass  of  the  French 
people  what  I  esteem  most  is  hardly  ac- 
quired bravery.  The  strongest  enemy  is 
not  opposite,  in  the  German  trenches,  but 
inside  each  one  of  us.  Man  becomes  noble 
when  he  conquers  his  own  cowardice. 

And  it  is  not  a  matter  of  conquering  it 
only  once.  Warriors  of  1870  told  me  in 
my  boyhood  that  one  "dodged"  the  first 
bullets  but  that  later  one  grew  so  ac- 
customed to  them  that  one  stood  straight 
up  when  they  whistled  by.  It  is  not 
always  true.  I  know  some  officers  whose 
courage,  on  the  contrary,  has  been  worn 
out  on  the  battlefield.  It  is  necessary  to 
make  renewed  efforts  at  each  succeeding 
danger  and  I  don't  think  that  the  baptism 
of  fire  ever  has  the  power  to  harden  the 
soul  for  all  time.  At  present  those  who 
have  braved  hardships  and  danger  through 
so  many  months  have  developed  a  great 
love  of  life.  It  seems  all  the  more  precious 
to  them  because  they  have  escaped  so 
many  perils.  At  first  they  shut  their  eyes 
and  offered  themselves  to  destiny.  Now 
those  who  have  survived  think  they  are 
chosen  to  participate  in  the  wonderful  joys 
of  the  triumphal  return.  Thinking  of  that 

161 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

blessed  and  longed-for  day  reminds  me  of  a 
sentence  I  have  often  heard,  even  from 
the  humblest  soldiers:  "The  last  man  to  be 
killed  is  the  one  I  pity." 

One  has  repeated  a  thousand  times  that  the 
cry  in  this  war  is  "  Hold  on."  It  is  not  easy 
for  each  hour  brings  new  temptations.  On 
the  days  of  activity  the  soul  is  elevated 
above  all  weakness  by  the  intoxication  of 
fighting,  but  each  day  of  passive  trench 
warfare  only  serves  to  renew  one's  misery. 

Fearlessness  before  death  is  one  virtue 
which  I  would  not  include  among  those  which 
will  remain  when  the  war  is  finished.  We 
are  like  people  who  have  become  accustomed 
to  travelling  on  railways  without  apprehen- 
sion of  danger.  Suddenly  an  accident 
occurs.  Once  frightened,  they  are  doomed 
to  travel  for  a  long  time  with  a  feeling  of 
nervousness.  Ordinarily,  one  does  not  mind 
the  first  shells.  That  is  the  period  of  heed- 
lessness  of  danger  through  which  we  nearly 
all  pass.  One  day  the  noise  gets  too  loud  for 
one's  nerves.  One's  teeth  begin  to  chatter 
and  there  is  no  remedy.  As  the  war  goes  on 
there  are  some  whose  physical  uneasiness 
grows  instead  of  diminishes.  Each  time 
that  they  overcome  it  their  character  grows 

162 


BRAFERY 

and  they  show  themselves  more  courageous. 
But  when  peace  comes  they  will  have  had 
enough  and  the  smell  of  powder  will  give 
them  no  pleasure  whatever. 

Yet  it  will  be  no  time  to  falter,  for 
when  the  day  comes  and  we  have  escaped 
the  risks  of  death  which  assail  us  here,  the 
great  thing  will  be  to  remain  brave  through 
life.  Shall  we  succeed?  Is  it  possible 
that  the  word  "bravery,"  under  different 
conditions,  can  refer  to  two  different  kinds 
of  virtue  ?  It  is  curious  that  in  time  of  war 
self-interest  may  produce  courage,  while  in 
peace  it  causes  only  cowardice. 

In  a  village,  where  I  happened  to  be 
before  the  war,  an  old  woman  was  being 
buried.  She  had  deserved  universal  venera- 
tion. All  the  men,  dressed  in  their  Sunday 
black,  came  and  awkwardly  saluted  the  coffin. 
The  procession  started  and  everyone  bowed 
as  it  passed.  I  could  not  but  admire  the 
tribute  paid  to  this  old  woman  by  the 
entire  community,  rich  and  poor  alike. 
They  came  to  the  church.  The  little  square 
was  full  of  sunlight.  The  priests  in  their 
surplices,  the  assistants  in  white,  disap- 
peared beneath  the  portico.  The  singing 
grew  fainter  and  died  away  among  the  cool 
163 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

arches.  The  coffin  entered  the  holy  place 
followed  first  by  the  school  children  and 
then  by  the  women.  When  the  turn  of 
the  men  came,  I  was  surprised  to  see  them 
turn  slightly  to  the  left  and  gather  a  few 
yards  away  under  a  tree,  while  the  doors 
of  God's  house  were  slowly  closing. 

Did  these  men  know  how  dreadfully 
they  slighted  the  dead  woman?  Did  they 
realize  that,  because  they  were  afraid  of  the 
anti-clerical  element  then  in  power,  they 
were  committing  a  displeasing,  disloyal,  and 
cowardly  action  ? 

This  group  of  careful  citizens  did  not 
seem  noble  to  me  that  day.  Their  courage 
had  left  them  because  a  delegate  from  the 
sous-prefecture  might  have  seen  them  and 
if  they  had  acquired  a  reputation  as  church- 
goers it  would  have  been  the  end  of  hopes 
of  advancement  from  the  anti-clerical  offi- 
cials. 

I  remember  that  I  regarded  them  as  so 
many  waifs  to  be  pitied  and  that  I  de- 
spaired of  ever  elevating  a  people  which  was 
only  actuated  by  self-interest. 

Here  at  the  war  that  same  self-interest 
has  proved  a  marvellous  influence.  One 
must  distinguish  voluntary  heroism  from 

164 


BRAFERY 

enforced  heroism.  The  former  is  the  better 
quality.  It  consists  of  choosing,  of  one's 
free  will,  the  dangerous  posts.  Those  who 
have  voluntarily  enlisted,  although  not 
compelled  to  serve,  and  those  at  the  front 
who,  in  spite  of  relatively  safe  duty,  are 
always  seeking  patrol  duty  in  "no  man's 
land,"  or  equally  perilous  missions,  are 
brave  among  the  brave.  But  others  who 
may  have  hoped  to  escape  the  mobilization, 
and  who,  in  the  dangerous  hours,  go  to 
the  second  line  and  try  to  make  themselves 
smaller  in  the  hope  of  evading  detection, 
also  become  brave  when  they  cannot  do 
otherwise.  Let  us  not  despise  their  courage 
for  it  is  the  only  kind  possessed  by  the 
innumerable  people  we  call  the  crowd;  when 
one  speaks  of  "the  brave  French"  one  speaks 
of  them.  Despite  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  they  are  made,  our  troops  have  not 
requested  the  privilege  of  making  those 
attacks  which  the  world  admires  and  our 
adversary  dreads.  It  is  because  they  have 
been  ordered  to  go,  that  everyone  tries  to 
become  a  hero.  The  poor  fellow  who 
began  in  fear  ends  in  a  wild  intoxi- 
cation of  valour.  He  did  not  willingly 
seek  adventure  but  it  is  his  because  he 

165 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

cannot  escape  it.  Self-interest  demands 
that  he  face  the  peril.  Forward  then!  He 
feels  his  neighbour's  elbow  against  his,  and 
his  comrades'  eyes  upon  him.  He  dare 
not  advance  less  valiantly  than  they;  his 
pride  goaded  by  his  interest,  he  tries  to 
arrive  before  the  others  and  show  himself 
the  finest  of  all. 

There  are  no  more  two  kinds  of  bravery 
— one  for  war  and  one  for  peace — than 
there  are  two  kinds  of  self-interest.  The 
apparent  difference  is  the  fault  of  the 
leaders;  it  is  they  who  play  on  the  strings 
of  the  human  heart  in  order  to  make  it 
cowardly  or  valorous. 

Leaders  influence  a  man  by  appealing  to 
his  own  interest,  but  not  always  toward  a 
worthy  end.  In  the  war  those  who  com- 
mand have  their  minds  fixed  on  the  public 
good.  They  show  the  right  way  to  all 
and  thus  create  rivalry  in  performing  duty. 
In  peace  time  the  contrary  occurs  although 
the  public  good  should  be  equally  im- 
portant. Everyone  then  follows  the  fash- 
ionable lead.  Here  and  there  a  few  bold 
characters  may  defy  it,  but  the  crowd  is 
piteously  enslaved.  I  no  longer  blame  the 
people  now  that  I  have  seen  now  they  will 

166 


BRAVERY 

follow  to  the  assault,  but  I  bear  a  bitter 
grudge  against  those  who  mislead  and 
guide  them  downward,  when  they  could  as 
well  guide  them  upward  to  almost  any 
height.  The  war  shows  us  that  men  are 
good  or  bad  according  to  how  they  are 
directed,  and  that  good  government  can 
make  great  people. 

If  after  the  victory  we  create  a  new  con- 
dition of  affairs  and  the  forces  of  the  nation 
are  at  last  well  organized  and  managed,  the 
heroism  shown  here  will  have  schooled  us 
to  display  the  same  virtues  in  peace.  Then 
let  the  elite  cultivate  bravery  on  the  battle- 
field, not  only  bravery  before  death,  but  in 
the  face  of  all  risks  and  all  responsibilities. 

Life  will  severely  try  the  courage  of  the 
boldest  soldiers.  When  they  come  back 
covered  with  honour,  ribbons,  and  medals, 
they  must  not  at  the  first  difficulty  fall 
back  into  the  old  weakness. 

There  used  to  be  one  form  of  cowardice 
which  in  particular  we  must  avoid.  We 
created  childless  homes,  in  spite  of  the 
knowledge  that  everything  commands  us 
to  have  children;  the  Motherland  as  well 
as  our  instincts.  Children  are  the  chief 
source  of  joy  and  strength,  but  we  thought 

167 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

only  of  the  trouble  involved  or  the  money 
required.  We  were  afraid.  The  women 
also  were  afraid.  They  feared  the  suffering 
or  the  responsibilities.  Men  and  women 
were  equally  weak  in  facing  life.  Instead  of 
painfully  putting  aside  a  small  fortune  for 
an  only  son  to  squander  they  should  have 
used  the  same  effort  in  raising  a  family  of 
many  children  and  left  them  a  heritage  of 
real  value:  strong  arms  and  brave  hearts. 

France  depopulated  herself  on  account  of 
these  brave  men  whom  the  whole  world 
now  admires  and  who  will  be  covered  with 
laurels  on  the  blessed  day  of  peace.  To 
make  them  retain  their  more  noble  in- 
stincts, they  must  continue  to  strive  in  peace 
as  they  did  upon  the  field  of  battle. 


168 


THE  ENEMY 


'The  £nemy 

A~"  FIRST  it  was  William! 
The     train     which     took     me     to 
Arras  at  the  time  of  the  mobiliza- 
tion  ran   through   rich   fields  which  were 
being   harvested.     Here   and   there   a  few 
old   men   and   children,    almost    prostrate 
from    the    heat,    were    binding   stacks    of 
wheat  while  numbers  of  ruddy-faced  women 
lined  the  fences  enclosing  the  railroad  and 
shouted:     "William's  ears!" 

More  than  one  mobilized  man  at  that 
time  thought  that  with  a  little  luck,  in  some 
fight,  he  might  come  near  enough  to  the 
Kaiser  to  amputate  his  ears  and  offer  them 
to  these  ladies! 

The  English,  when  their  trains  were  being 

cheered,  never  forgot  to  make  two  gestures : 

they  seized  a  pair  of  imaginary  mustachios 

with  one  hand  and,  with  the  edge  of  the 

169 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

other,  pretended  to  cut  their  throats.  The 
German  Emperor's  throat  was  slashed  in  this 
manner  throughout  the  time  of  the  mobiliza- 
tion of  the  first  British  army. 

It  was  necessary  for  the  popular  anger 
to  have  an  object.  The  day  before  peace 
had  been  reigning.  Not  only  did  one  not 
expect  war  but  one  did  not  even  want  to 
think  it  possible.  It  burst  out  suddenly. 
Whose  fault  was  it? 

Not  that  of  the  Germans,  assuredly.  We 
had  forgotten  there  ever  were  such  things 
as  Germans.  To  be  sure  years  ago  one 
spoke  of  the  Prussian  menace,  but  that  was 
an  old  story.  The  Germans  could  not  be 
our  foes.  Our  people  were  all  too  busy 
quarrelling  at  home  to  make  enemies 
abroad.  When  the  war  broke  out  they 
felt  more  hatred  against  their  neighbours 
than  against  a  far-away  and  hypothetical 
people  like  the  Germans.  Let  the  mili- 
tarists write  long  articles  about  the  com- 
ing German  invasion  through  Belgium  and 
beg  that  the  town  of  Lille  be  fortified: 
the  cunning  peasant  was  busy  protecting 
his  farmyard  against  the  intrusion  of  his 
neighbour  and  cared  little  for  anything 
else. 

170 


THE  ENEMY 

Our  people  recognized  only  one  German: 
"William."  Hence  he  must  be  the  one  to 
blame.  Besides,  the  loosing  of  such  a  calam- 
ity could  only  be  the  work  of  a  tyrant. 
The  ignorance  of  the  crowd  served  only  to 
augment  its  prejudice.  I  joined  in  singing 
the  Marseillaise  on  the  second  of  August 
but  with  more  ear  for  the  tune  than  for  the 
words.  Nevertheless,  a  few  words,  a  few 
phrases  at  the  station  brought  tears  to  my 
eyes. 

"  Le  jour  de  gloire  est  arrive! 
Aux  armes  citoyens!" 

Other  lines  seemed  to  me  less  appropiate: 

"Centre  nous  de  la  tyrannic 
L'etendard  sanglant  est  leve" 

Many  good  people  have  been  moved  to 
tears  while  repeating  these  words  until  lately 
so  long  out  of  use.  A  despot  being  in  the 
business,  there  was  only  Kaiser  William  and 
they  thought  that  it  was  against  him  in 
person  that  the  whole  of  France  was  rushing 
with  a  song. 

Other  people  went  further.  They  took 
pity  on  the  Germans  who  were  being  misled 

171 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

by  a  bad  master  and  started  a  campaign  to 
free  them  from  his  despotism.    The  news- 

Eapers  hailed  us  as  the  champions  of 
iberty  fighting  to  emancipate  the  German 
slaves,  whereas  it  was  really  French  liberty 
desperately  trying  to  escape  the  German 
yoke.  With  pride  they  looked  forward  to  the 
punishment  of  William  and  the  establish- 
ment of  a  German  Republic.  If  we  establish 
a  Republic  over  there — or  several  Republics, 
as  I  would  prefer — it  is  not  the  Emperor 
whom  I  wish  to  see  most  punished  but  my 
enemy,  his  people.  The  Kaiser  is  only  an 
object  for  ridicule. 

One  day  a  new  word  ran  from  mouth  to 
mouth.  Our  troops  had  encountered  the 
adversary,  not  in  the  guise  of  Caesar,  but 
in  that  of  an  innumerable  horde.  Whence 
came  THESE  men,  and  who  were  they? 
They  were  nicknamed  "the  Boches,"  and 
in  our  cries,  in  the  long  nightmares  of 
feverish  nights,  "Boches'*  replaced  "Wil- 
liam." We  at  last  knew  our  enemy. 

Why  that  nickname  for  the  Germans? 
Very  few  of  my  comrades  knew  it  before  the 
month  of  August.  I  first  heard  of  its  exist- 
ence toward  the  end  of  1913.  I  had  been 
visiting  at  Saverne  at  the  time  of  the  deed  of 

172 


THE  ENEMY 

the  infamous  Forstner.  I  realized  how  in- 
evitable and  near  the  war  had  become. 

Passing  through  Nancy  on  my  return,  I 
was  exchanging  impressions  with  some 
young  friends,  when  one  of  them  said : 

"As  a  matter  of  fact  the  'Bodies'  are 
absolutely  unbearable." 

"The  what?  "said  I 

"The  Alboches    .     .     .     ." 

I  am  sure  that  all  those  who  have  tried 
to  find  an  ingenious  explanation  for  this 
new  word  in  etymology  have  gone  astray. 
The  French  word  for  "German"  is  " Alle- 
mand."  This  was  changed  to  "Alboche"  by 
the  men  because  it  was  a  kind  of  play  on 
the  word  and  the  syllable  "Boche"  ex- 
pressed derision  because  it  rhymed  with 
such  terms  of  contempt  as:  "cabocht,  moche, 
bidoche"  and  a  crowd  of  others.  Later  the 
first  syllable  was  dropped  to  make  the  word 
shorter  and  more  adaptable  to  rapid  speech 
in  the  same  way  that  a  name  is  contracted 
into  a  nickname;  only  the  word  Boche  re- 
mained. That  it  hits  the  nail  on  the  head 
is  shown  by  the  universal  favour  it  has  ob- 
tained. 

What  are  the  sentiments  of  our  men 
toward  this  flesh-and-blood  enemy  they 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

have  found  suddenly  opposed  to  them? 
They  hate  him;  but  I  am  uncertain  whether 
it  is  because  he  is  German  or  because  he  is 
on  the  other  side  of  the  line. 

When  two  teams  of  players  are  opposed, 
there  immediately  arises  a  feeling  of  hostil- 
ity. What  begins  as  friendly  rivalry  may 
rapidly  change  to  jealousy  and  terminate  in 
enmity.  This  occurs  among  all  classes  of 
people  and  even  in  armies.  An  artillery- 
man makes  fun  of  an  infantryman,  and  the 
"poilu"  who  is  stagnating  in  his  trench 
calls  the  gunner  "slacker"  because  he  is 
concealed  a  little  distance  behind  the  front. 
In  a  regiment  different  companies  may 
have  quarrels.  A  captain  one  day  sent  a 
note  to  one  of  a  neighbouring  sector  asking 
him  to  look  after  his  men  who  were  exceed- 
ing their  boundaries  in  looking  for  firewood. 
He  added  that  he  would  be  "Unmerciful 
to  soldiers  from  a  FOREIGN  company  if 
found  on  our  ground."  It  was  necessary  to 
ask  him  whether  his  note  was  intended  for 
French  trespassers  or  for  those  from  the 
line  opposite. 

In  fact,  the  greater  part  of  our  men, 
suddenly  surprised  by  the  war,  are  not 
yet  prepared  to  recognize  the  German  as 


THE  ENEMY 

a  blood  enemy;  they  only  hate  him  because 
he  is  their  adversary,  and  that  is  not  enough. 
There  is  among  us  a  good  fellow  with  a 
kind  and  calm  appearance.  At  the  outset 
of  the  campaign  his  section  was  caught  in 
a  tight  situation  at  a  very  short  distance 
from  a  line  of  enemy  sharpshooters.  He 
threw  himself  into  a  huge  shell-hole  from 
where  he  could,  without  great  danger,  shoot 
at  the  devils  in  helmets  as  they  advanced. 
The  rest  of  the  section — condemned  to  an 
inglorious  inactivity  until  the  order  came  to 
show  themselves  on  the  ridge — sought  shel- 
ter in  a  ditch  a  few  yards  to  the  right  from 
which  they  could  watch  their  comrade. 
He  was  shooting  as  if  on  the  target  range — 
loading,  aiming,  and  firing  with  exactly  the 
same  precision.  He  said  afterward  that  he 
had  made  wonderful  scores.  But  the  re- 
markable thing  was  the  expression  of  greed 
and  pleasure  he  showed  each  time  a  man 
fell.  His  mouth  opened  in  a  smile  from 
ear  to  ear  and  his  eyes  sparkled.  He 
looked  like  a  little  boy  sitting  down  before 
a  mountain  of  cakes.  That  man,  who  in 
civilian  life  perhaps  never  even  wanted  to 
see  death,  was  actually  laughing  while 
killing  Germans. 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

One  evening  in  camp  I  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  little  sergeant  who  had 
just  returned  to  the  front  after  being 
wounded  on  the  Meuse  in  the  great  re- 
treat. 

"May  we  not  smoke  one  last  cigarette 
together?"  he  said,  holding  out  a  ciga- 
rette. 

It  was  a  joke.  He  had  thought  so  often 
during  the  first  weeks  that  his  last  day  had 
come,  that  now,  whenever  he  smoked,  his 
comrades  repeated  gaily: 

"Maybe  it  is  the  last!" 

His  thin  face  surmounted  by  blue  clouds 
of  smoke,  the  young  brigand  told  me  hor- 
rible stories  of  the  war.  I  remember 
chiefly  the  story  of  a  great  big  Saxon 
officer  who  had  suddenly  appeared,  revolver 
in  hand,  ten  yards  away  from  a  French 
column.  "He  was  sheltering  his  fat  body 
behind  a  big  tree,"  related  his  executioner; 
"he  protruded  a  grimacing  face  and  aimed  at 
us.  I  was  in  front.  I  brought  my  gun  to 
my  shoulder  and  fired.  He  fell  with  a 
horrible  cry.  Then,  mad  with  joy,  I  ran  to 
him  and  turned  him  over  to  see  the  wound 
my  bullet  had  made.  I  assure  you  it  was 
a  large  one,  it  had  done  its  work  well." 

176 


.  THE  ENEMY 

I  looked  at  him,  his  eyes  were  turned 
toward  the  sky  and  he  seemed  to  be  expe- 
riencing an  almost  supernatural  joy. 

"Do  you  work  for  a  butcher  in  civilian 
life,  my  friend?" 

He  answered  that  he  was  a  student  of 
theology.  Since  that  story,  and  that  of  the 
vicar  adjudant,  I  never  feel  assured  when 
I  ask  people  their  profession. 

There  is  not  a  soldier  at  the  front  who 
could  not  recount  twenty  similar  anecdotes. 
They  prove  only  that  we  are  fighting 
mercilessly  an  enemy  who  has  been  pointed 
out  to  us. 

"My  Lieutenant,  could  you  loan  me  ten 
francs  on  a  Boche?" 

The  general  commanding  that  army  who 
needed  prisoners  from  whom  to  obtain 
information  had  announced  that  any  sol- 
dier who  brought  back  a  German  to  our 
lines  would  receive  a  premium  of  fifty 
francs.  A  man  with  a  reputation  for 
drunkenness  decided  to  go  and  win  the 
reward  in  order  to  buy  himself  wine.  He 
kept  his  word,  but  before  starting  he  was 
anxious  to  get  a  little  money  in  advance 
to  brace  his  nerves.  He  was  very  funny  as 
he  stood  with  his  hand  extended  and  a 
177 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

cunning  air.  We  decided,  some  friends  and 
I,  to  refuse  him  what  he  asked.  A  few  days 
later  a  patrol  was  ordered,  and  he  asked  to 
take  part  in  it.  He  brought  back  a  remark- 
able Boche  as  prisoner,  a  huge  fair  fellow, 
apparently  well  educated,  and  who  told  us 
that  he  had  been  a  clerk  in  an  important 
Dresden  bank.  He  showed  us  pictures  of 
his  wife  and  three  children;  a  good-looking 
family.  We  examined  with  curiosity  this 
specimen  of  the  innumerable  Germans  living 
in  the  ground  across  from  our  lines,  who  are 
at  the  same  time  so  near  and  yet  so  distant ! 
Such  a  deep  chasm  separates  us  from  these 
people  who,  within  sound  of  our  voices,  are 
defiling  and  trampling  our  soil.  Behind  his 
blue  eyes  there  was  concealed  a  violent 
emotion.  To  get  him  alive  it  had  been 
necessary  to  kill  two  or  three  of  his  com- 
rades. The  only  reason  why  the  young 
woman  whose  portrait  he  had  shown  us 
was  not  a  widow  at  that  moment  was 
because  with  fifty  francs  a  man  can  buy 
wine  enough  to  last  a  good  many  days. 
"Hello!  Tell  us  how  you  took  him." 
"I  put  my  hand  on  him  and  held  on  tight. 
He  did  not  want  to  come,  the  miserable 
specimen,  but  I  got  angry!" 

178 


THE  ENEMY 

He  stopped  and  I  thought  he  was  again 
going  to  throw  himself  on  the  prisoner. 

"Steady,"  said  the  commandant.  "Con- 
tinue." 

"I  made  him  run  in  front  of  me  and 
kicked  him  whenever  he  wanted  to  stop. 
You  needn't  be  afraid,  my  Commandant, 
he  has  had  all  that  he  wants " 

There  followed  a  queer  exchange  of  looks 
between  the  big  dreamy-eyed  German  and 
the  little  French  gutter-snipe. 

"All  the  same,"  the  Frenchman  added, 
"fifty  francs  is  not  very  generous  for  a  man 
of  that  weight." 

And  yet  that  man,  in  spite  of  his  violent 
words,  is  not  a  determined  enemy  of  Ger- 
many. Drunkard  though  he  be,  he  makes 
a  satisfactory  soldier  and  will  fight,  not 
only  anywhere,  but  against  anybody. 

There  are  times  when  one  can  look  at 
the  enemy  without  hatred.  I  have  seen  a 
crowd  of  soldiers  go  and  visit  a  still-seeking 
battlefield  in  the  same  way  that  other 
people  go  to  a  fair.  On  the  second  of  May 
one  of  our  lines  had  to  bear  the  brunt  of  an 
intense  bombardment,  followed  by  the  as- 
sault of  a  strong  reconnoitring  party.  The 
179 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

resistance  of  our  comrades  was  strong  and 
successful.  A  German  officer  fell  in  the 
trench  itself  and  thirty-five  dead  bodies  re- 
mained just  outside  the  parapet.  The  affair 
had  begun  in  the  afternoon  of  Saturday.  The 
next  day  the  weather  was  beautiful,  and  from 
all  the  neighbouring  sectors  soldiers  and  offi- 
cers came  in  Indian  file  to  see  the  dead. 

It  is  perhaps  the  only  time  that  a  Sunday 
has  seemed  really  a  holiday.  Sundays,  at 
the  front,  are  days  just  like  the  others,  only 
much  sadder  for  that  very  reason.  This  one 
stood  alone;  it  seemed  as  if  everyone  was 
idling  around,  waiting  for  some  band  to 
play.  Yet  at  the  same  time  the  dead 
officer,  a  Lieutenant  of  the  Guards  decorated 
with  the  iron  cross,  was  lying  neglected  in 
a  narrow  passage — his  uniform,  where  it 
had  not  been  torn  by  the  barbed  wire, 
stained  with  mud  and  blood.  We  stepped 
over  the  body  and  went  our  way.  Our 
conversation  showed  no  trace  of  emotion. 
We  are  here  at  the  war  to  kill  the  Bodies; 
so  we  kill  them  and  that  is  the  end  of  it. 

However,  if  I  ask  the  sergeant-major,  he 
will  tell  me  that  he  felt  very  sad  the  day 
that  young  officer  from  the  Grand  Duchy 
of  Baden  was  killed  just  in  front  of  him. 

180 


THE  ENEMY 

The  latter  was  scarcely  more  than  a  child 
and  had  shown  courage  and  gallantry  in 
action.  There  was  infinite  pathos  in  watch- 
ing his  death  struggle  on  the  plain. 

Now  let  us  question  that  tall  sergeant 
who  is  standing  on  tiptoe  to  see  better- 
from  his  trench. 

"What  are  you  looking  at?" 

"There  is  a  Boche  parading  over  there. 
I  have  a  good  mind  to  kill  him/' 

"Well,  don't  hesitate." 

This  man  is  a  very  good  shot.  He  aims. 
We  all  watch.  The  silhouette  totters  and 
disappears.  I  leave  the  place  shivering. 

When  will  these  warriors,  so  courageous 
and  ardent  in  the  fight,  find  out  why  they 
are  here?  How  long  will  it  be  until  they 
learn  that  their  mission  is  to  teach  a  race 
that  it  cannot  prey  on  others  ? 

I  see  two  ways  of  considering  the  Germans. 

They  have  qualities  which  we  lack:  we 
must  study  them  in  order  to  acquire  their 
virtues.  They  have  faults  which  we  hate: 
we  must  make  these  public  in  order  to 
indicate  the  actual  source  of  our  enmity. 

Of  their  good  qualities  our  soldiers  have 
recognized  the  principal  one;  the  only  one 
that  matters. 

181 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

The  Germans  are  organized.  The  whole 
of  their  big  country  is  a  beehive  where 
everyone,  in  his  designated  place,  works  for 
the  good  of  the  Fatherland.  The  affairs  of 
the  individual  are  secondary  to  those  of  the 
State.  However,  if  the  State  is  well 
governed  and  vigilant,  all  interests  profit 
in  their  turn,  and  the  individual  fortunes 
benefit  from  those  of  the  nation. 

Our  soldiers  do  not  comprehend  all  that 
clearly:  they  have  scarcely  known  the 
Germans  long  enough  to  think  about  them. 
They  do  know,  however,  that  they  en- 
countered a  machine,  so  powerful  and  so 
perfectly  organized  that  at  first  they  were 
dazed.  It  is  difficult  to  understand  how 
the  moral  courage  of  the  French  was  able 
to  withstand  the  shock  when  they  first  en- 
countered German  method  and  German 
foresight.  Do  not  let  us  be  stingy  in  our 
praise;  I  will  make^retractions  enough  pres- 
ently. Germany,  at  the  time  of  her  march 
on  Paris,  won  for  herself  the  unwilling 
admiration  of  the  world.  Her  immortal 
failure  on  the  Marne  and  the  hatred  which 
she  has  aroused  since  have  not  yet  effaced 
the  remembrance  of  those  first  days.  Is 
power  of  organization  a  German  quality 

182 


THE  ENEMY 

or  is  it  the  result  of  their  system  of  govern- 
ment? The  Germans,  although  laborious 
and  precise  in  their  ways,  are  naturally  in- 
clined toward  intellectual  disorder.  While 
France — queen  of  nations  when  she  is  prop- 
erly governed — was  abandoning  herself  to 
revolutionary  dreams  imported  from  the 
other  side  of  the  Rhine,  Germany  was 
benefiting  from  a  monarchy  frankly  model- 
led after  ours.  Anarchy  is  German.  Order 
is  French.  Temporary  fashions  have  in- 
verted the  roles  but  other  fashions  will 
restore  them  when  we  learn  their  relative 
importance. 

Our  sky  is  at  last  beginning  to  clear.  The 
mass  of  the  people  still  remains  ignorant 
and  there  are  yet  many  dishonest  leaders. 
A  great  lesson  was  necessary  to  instruct  the 
former  and  unmask  the  latter.  Our  enemies 
have  brought  it  to  us. 

Have  you  travelled?  Have  you  ever 
entered  a  big  European  or  American  port 
without  a  tightening  of  the  heart?  Our 
merchant  marine  has  been  blotted  out  and 
French  people  have  lost  all  interest  in  it. 
One  doesn't  bother  about  ships  when  one 
stays  at  home,  but  when  a  patriotic  French- 
man finds  himself  some  day  in  one  of  those 

183 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

immense  harbours  where  the  shipping  of 
the  world  comes  and  goes,  and  when  he  sees 
fluttering  in  the  wind  the  flags  of  all  nations 
save  his  own,  he  begins  to  think.  He 
comes  home  resolved  to  make  this  shame 
public,  to  beg  people  to  look  about  them 
and  come  out  of  their  torpor.  He  has  to 
fight  against  easy  talkers  who  reason  with- 
out seeing  and  deny  the  facts  when  they 
interfere  with  their  beliefs.  There  is  one 
sure  way  to  convert  them:  put  them  all 
aboard  big  ships  and  make  them  travel 
about  the  world.  The  spectacle  of  how 
other  nations  are  flourishing  probably  would 
make  them  blush  and  cure  them  of  their 
folly. 

The  Germans,  uninvited,  have  rendered 
us  this  service.  It  is  hard  to  see  them  on 
our  soil,  but  at  least  we  have  had  the 
opportunity  to  study  them  more  closely. 
We  have  been  watching  an  armed  nation 
organized  for  invasion  and  for  murder. 

There  is  not  a  man  in  our  trenches  to- 
day who  does  not  deplore  the  slackness  of 
French  institutions  compared  with  the 
powerful  organization  of  such  a  neighbour 
and  who  does  not  realize  the  necessity  of 
a  step  back  toward  order  and  toward 

184 


THE  ENEMY 

strength.  This  is  what  the  sight  of  the 
enemy  has  taught  us;  and  it  is  much. 

We  have  opposite  us  a  regiment  of  the 
Prussian  Guard  and  are  greatly  honoured. 
Although  picked  soldiers,  not  all  of  them 
speak  the  French  language.  There  are 
some  among  us  who  know  German.  When 
the  exchange  of  words  between  trenches 
begins  in  the  latter  tongue,  one  is  more 
quickly  and  better  understood.  The  great 
number  of  us,  however,  derive  most  joy 
from  conversations  in  French.  It  is  neces- 
sary to  understand  each  other  in  order  to 
exchange  tobacco  and  newspapers.  But 
who  will  go  out  of  the  lines?  The  Boches 
invite  a  Frenchman  to  make  the  first  step. 

"Come  on!  Nous  ne  dirrerons  bas." 
(Nous  ne  tirrerons  pas — We  will  not  fire!) 

They  roll  the  "r"  and  accentuate  the 
"i"  in  pronouncing  these  words.  They 
lay  emphasis  on  the  "pas"  ("not")  in  a  dis- 
dainful manner. 

"No!     You  come,  we  have  some  cigars." 

The  affair  is  rarely  settled  because,  on 
the  German  side  or  on  ours,  an  officer  passes 
and  orders  silence. 

One  day  I  asked  a  bold  fellow,  whom  I 
had  caught  flirting  in  this  manner  with  a 

185 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

distant  Prussian,  why  he  hesitated  to  go  out 
on  the  plain  between  the  lines  and  chat  a 
little  with  his  opponent.  Another  soldier 
had  tried  it  only  a  few  days  earlier.  The 
two  men,  the  Frenchman  and  the  German, 
had  gone  out  at  noon  under  the  watchful 
glances  of  about  a  hundred  of  their  com- 
rades from  both  camps.  Many  fingers, 
no  doubt,  rested  on  the  rifle  triggers,  ready 
to  shoot  if  either  one  made  a  menacing 
gesture.  They  had  spoken  of  the  war  and 
of  the  suffering  of  the  soldiers;  then  they 
had  lighted  cigars  and  returned. 

"I  don't  trust  them." 

"And  why?" 

"They  have  too  much  method  those 
people " 

He  explained  to  me  that  the  Boches 
would  be  quite  capable  of  throwing  them- 
selves suddenly  on  the  ground  to  let  their 
friends  shoot.  One  way  the  Germans  have 
of  employing  their  machine  guns  has  greatly 
impressed  our  men.  At  first  we  used  to 
attack  without  much  prudence.  The  Ger- 
mans would  retreat  and  seem  to  be  fleeing 
before  our  bayonets.  We  would  follow 
them  until  they  had  led  us  into  a  trap, 
whereupon  they  would  suddenly  unmask 

1 86 


THE  ENEMY 

some  machine  guns  and  begin  firing  mer- 
cilessly. Many  boys  fell  in  this  way.  The 
very  few  who  escaped  felt  anger  mingled 
with  admiration. 

"They  have  thought  of  everything,  the 
scoundrels!" 

I  say  "scoundrel"  because  I  want  to  be 
polite.  What  they  really  say  would 
scarcely  bear  repeating.  Our  poor  soldiers, 
so  brave,  so  frequently  dismayed  at  the 
way  the  Germans  were  allowed  to  organize 
themselves,  often  express  that  sentiment. 

"  Look,  my  Lieutenant,  that  balloon  over 
there  is  Boche.  It  is  only  they  who  can 
imagine  such  things." 

It  was  at  the  outset  of  the  war  when,  for 
the  first  time,  we  saw  one  of  their  sausage 
balloons.  From  a  distance  it  was  difficult 
to  determine  whether  it  was  above  our  lines 
or  theirs. 

"It  is  Boche!  It  is  surely  Boche!  In- 
deed they  have  thought  of  everything. 
And  then  it  is  so  ugly:  it  must  be  theirs." 

Ugly  or  not  there  is  some  good  in  the 
"sausage"  and  now  we  have  them,  too. 
But  the  soldiers  would  have  liked  it  better 
if  we  had  not  had  to  learn  that  lesson,  along 
with  many  others,  from  the  Germans. 

187 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

Please  note,  however,  that  we  surpass  them 
when  we  imitate  them.  They  had  illumi- 
nating rockets;  ours  now  are  better  than 
theirs.  But  early  in  the  war  they  were  the 
only  ones  who  could  send  up  fireworks  in 
the  night,  much  to  the  humiliation  of  our 
own  soldiers. 

One  of  my  comrades  was  wounded  in 
August,  1914,  during  the  German  march  on 
Paris.  He  received  five  bullets  in  his  arms, 
shoulder,  and  legs.  The  Germans  cap- 
tured the  ground  on  which  he  lay  and  he 
was  first  cared  for  in  a  German  ambulance. 
Then  came  the  retreat  after  the  Marne. 
The  invaders,  in  running  away,  left  the 
French  wounded  behind  them.  My  friend, 
after  getting  well,  has  consequently  come 
back  to  occupy  his  place  among  us.  But 
he  has  seen  the  famous  Von  Kliick  army 
close  at  hand  and  here  are  his  two  chief  im- 
pressions. 

As  he  lay  on  the  ground,  he  saw  a  line  of 
enemy  sharpshooters  coming  toward  him. 
They  were  walking  elbow  to  elbow,  rifle 
in  hand.  Would  they  respect  a  fallen 
officer?  His  feet  were  toward  them  so 
that  he  could  see  the  entire  manoeuvre. 
As  the  line  approached  it  divided,  the  ranks 

1 88 


THE  ENEMY 

opening  to  right  and  left,  and  passed  by  his 
body  without  touching  it.  If  they  had 
seen  him  they  avoided  him  as  they  would  a 
bundle  of  dirty  straw.  Their  eyes  were 
fixed,  full  of  anxiety,  and  seemed  lost  in  the 
distance.  Their  hands  trembled.  Terror 
was  depicted  on  their  pallid  faces  and  they 
were  not  attempting  to  conceal  it.  These 
victorious  warriors  were  wild  with  fright. 
Our  poor  troops  had  been  taken  in  an 
ambuscade  and  were  obliged  to  withdraw 
while  the  enemy  pursued  with  chattering 
teeth  and  each  man  pressing  against  the 
next  for  comfort.  There  are  many  cour- 
ageous people  among  the  Germans;  we 
have  not  got  a  monopoly  on  bravery,  but 
as  a  whole  they  are  not  courageous.  One 
of  the  wonders  of  German  organization  is 
that  it  can  have  disciplined  such  people, 
even  unto  death. 

However,  the  infantry  was  still  advancing 
and,  after  it,  came  the  artillery.  A  bat- 
tery of  77-millime  re  guns  unlimbered  a 
few  yards  away  from  the  wounded  man. 
German  officers  came  up  and  surrounded 
him.  He  was  questioned  with  quite  a  little 
courtesy,  while  a  lieutenant  brought  some 
straw  to  protect  him  from  the  sun.  The 

189 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

guns  opened  fire  on  his  comrades  who  were 
retreating  in  the  distance.  What  painful 
moments  were  those  to  my  friend!  His 
undressed  wounds  pained  him  much  less  than 
the  proximity  of  those  energetic  men  intent 
on  killing  French  people.  One  of  them  seized 
just  that  moment  to  come  and  talk  to 
him. 

"France  is  lost,  that  is  certain!  We 
are  going  to  take  Paris,  my  friend.  I  know 
Paris  as  well  as  you.  I  have  worked  there, 
my  comrades  also,  for  a  long  time.  We 
have  prepared  everything  so  that  we  will 
be  well  received.  You  had  not  foreseen 
anything;  so  much  the  worse  for  France! 
You  wear  red  trousers:  a  stupid  fault  which 
the  Germans  would  never  have  committed. 
Nothing  can  resist  an  organization  like  ours 
and  I  pity  you  to  be  fighting  against  such 
a  formidable  civilization!" 

He  continued  like  that  for  a  long  time 
until  my  friend  finally  fainted  away  partly 
from  suffering,  partly  from  loss  of  blood. 
However  the  words  of  this  German  were 
full  of  truth. 

Yes,  their  organization  nearly  proved  too 
much  for  us  and  it  has  been  a  good  lesson. 

Yes,  their  civilization  is  formidable,  not 

190 


THE  ENEMY 

only  for  the  French  but  for  the  whole  of 
humanity. 

The  fault  of  this  man,  one  common  to  all 
his  race,  lies  in  not  distinguishing  the  dif- 
ference between  the  two  words  he  has 
uttered.  He  knows  that  one  of  the  ele- 
ments of  civilization  is  order,  consequently 
organization.  And  as  the  only  civilized 
quality  he  possesses  is  that  of  application 
to  methodical  work,  he  proclaims  that 
virtue  sufficient  for  all.  It  is  termed  in 
French  "  taking  a  part  for  the  whole" ;  and 
in  all  languages  "making  a  mistake." 

A  good  man,  in  France,  in  the  Seventeenth 
Century  was  one  who  possessed  a  fine  gen- 
eral culture  and  polished  manners,  who 
led  a  straight  life,  and  was  agreeable  to 
meet.  He  was  a  civilized  man  in  the  fullest 
sense  of  the  word  and  utilized  these  qual- 
ities of  heart  and  mind  in  increasing  his  own 
happiness  and  that  of  others. 

A  man  of  that  type  is  perfectly  "organ- 
ized." But  our  neighbours  thought  it 
would  be  better  to  replace  this  internal 
harmony  of  the  individual,  which  is  the 
source  of  all  civilization,  with  a  happier 
social  organization.  They  therefore  created 
wonderful  systems  of  law:  but  the  only 
191 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

people  who  could  obey  them  were  the 
Germans. 

The  inhabitants  of  old  Germany  lack  the 
French  qualities  of  clear  intelligence,  wit, 
and  good  taste  which,  without  effort,  refine 
and  elevate  men  above  their  fellows.  They 
have  other  virtues  but  they  do  not  com- 
pensate for  the  precious  ones  they  lack. 
They  realize  this  and  are  envious,  like  poor 
relations. 

Believing  themselves  to  be  despised  by 
others,  they  have  cultivated  love  of  self 
to  the  extreme.  They  began  to  worship 
their  own  methods  and  to  proclaim  them 
supreme.  Their  great  qualities  of  in- 
dustry and  obedience  made  them  strong 
and  they  deified  that  strength.  To-day 
they  think  they  are  the  right  arm  of  God. 

In  order  to  correct  them  we  must  know 
them.  Let  us  examine  them  at  war  since 
it  is  in  that  line  that  they  are  now  operat- 
ing. They  have  wonderful  tools — that  we 
acknowledge ;  but  what  kind  of  intelligence 
is  there  behind  this  imposing  machinery? 

Let  us  take  Rheims  as  an  example.  It 
has  been  said  that  if  the  roles  were  reversed 
and  we  were  besieging  Kohn  we  would 
destroy  their  cathedral  there,  just  as  they 

192 


THE  ENEMY 

have  ours  at  Rheims.  I  am  sure  of  the 
contrary.  German  reasoning  is  well  known : 
all  damage  caused  to  the  French  contributes 
to  the  final  success;  the  more  cruel  the  dam- 
age the  better  it  serves  their  purpose.  This 
method  of  calculating  is  apparently  right. 
It  contains  the  logic  of  war;  the  harder  you 
strike,  the  earlier  you  will  have  peace.  No 
German  therefore  can  hesitate  in  front  of 
Rheims.  He  sees  at  once  that  the  cathed- 
ral is  a  jewel  and  moreover  a  sacred  place, 
the  temple  of  the  holiest  of  French  tra- 
ditions. The  enemy  can  be  injured  both 
morally  and  materially  by  knocking  down 
those  stones.  The  supreme  aim  of  the 
war  can  thus  be  pursued.  It  is  an  excellent 
theory  and  he  sets  about  placing  his  guns. 

If  the  French  were  before  Kohn  they 
would  reason  also,  but  in  a  different  man- 
ner: It  is  good  to  demoralize  the  enemy, 
but  it  is  possible  to  exceed  the  mark  and, 
by  certain  vexations,  so  to  irritate  him 
that  his  morale  is  raised  instead  of  lowered. 
It  is  a  simple  problem  but  a  German  is 
incapable  of  solving  it.  We  will  not  de- 
stroy Kohn,  even  as  a  reprisal.  We  will 
preserve  on  the  battlefield  the  faculty  of 
seeing  beyond  the  war.  The  executioners 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

of  Rheims  should  be  punished  in  Kohn, 
but  it  is  not  necessary  that  the  whole  of 
mankind  be  made  to  suffer  for  the  fault  of 
only  one  people.  Let  us  respect  that  which 
is  the  universal  patrimony  of  the  world  but 
when  the  hour  of  settlement  arrives,  let 
us  wrench  the  town  and  its  temple  away 
from  the  Germans  as  a  ransom  for  the  walls 
where  our  kings  were  crowned  and  which 
they  have  destroyed! 

We  have  been  given  knives, great  brigand's 
knives.  Many  among  us  who  were  familiar 
with  the  use  of  the  rifle,  revolver,  bayonet, 
or  sword  were  at  first  surprised  to  find  these 
new  weapons  in  their  hands.  They  were 
the  weapons  of  murderers  and  it  was  neces- 
sary to  get  accustomed  to  them.  They 
are  useful  for  fighting  in  the  boyaux,  and 
for  that  barbarous  operation  known  as 
"cleaning  the  trench."  Oh  it  is  not  pretty! 
We  are  soldiers,  but  we  have  never  been 
butchers.  Yet  the  only  thing  to  do  is  to 
accustom  ourselves  to  it:  it  is  the  German 
law! 

They  claimed  that  in  war  might  creates 
right.  It  is  our  enemies  who  with  a  blind 
stupidity  have  violated  one  by  one  all  the 
rules  established  by  the  loyalty  of  many 

194 


THE  ENEMY 

generations  to  their  ideals.  When  a  unit 
of  troops,  rapidly  advancing,  has  taken  a 
first  line  of  trenches  and  has  to  go  on  to  the 
next,  there  is  not  time  enough  to  disarm  and 
render  powerless  the  prisoners  they  are 
going  to  leave  behind.  In  the  olden  days 
the  rules  of  war  would  have  forced  these 
defeated  people  to  remain  harmless.  But  to- 
day one  knows  that,  obedient  to  the  laws  of 
German  civilization,  they  will  be  treacherous. 
It  is  therefore  necessary  to  slaughter  them. 

In  the  French  army  there  are  probably 
soldiers  who  will  pillage  if  given  the  chance. 
If  we  advance  into  Germany,  acts  of  van- 
dalism may  be  committed,  here  and  there, 
by  our  men.  They  will  have  a  certain 
excuse  as  being  reprisals,  but  what  matter? 
A  crime  is  never  excusable.  In  that  case 
France  will,  like  any  other  nation,  deserve 
criticism  for  not  being  able  to  stop  certain 
excesses.  The  Germans  are  the  only  people 
who  consider  themselves  above  reproach  in 
that  respect.  Excesses,  when  it  is  their 
army  which  commits  them,  change  their 
name  and  become  simply  methods  of  war- 
fare. Doctors,  learned  in  German  "Kul- 
tur,"  have  already  woven  wreaths  for  those 
who  have  committed  them. 

i95 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

Our  soldiers  from  their  dugouts  see  all 
this,  but  how  much  of  it  do  they  under- 
stand? Nothing  very  positively.  An  in- 
stinct moves  them  to  hate  these  people  who, 
they  feel,  are  brutal,  coarse,  and  different 
from  themselves:  a  precious  instinct  but 
that  is  not  enough. 

The  war  over,  writers  and  speech  makers 
will  begin  to  praise  the  Germans  for  their 
efficiency  and  power  of  organization  and 
will  tell  us  that  after  all  the  Boches  were 
only  defending  themselves  and  that  we 
cannot  expect  people  to  fight  with  flowers. 
With  clever  leaders  I  can  imagine  a  cam- 
paign of  German  rehabilitation  rallying 
some  partisans  in  France  within  a  few 
years.  We  must  prevent  that. 

The  crowd  always  sees  facts  but  never 
discerns  their  causes.  It  must  be  the  un- 
ceasing duty  of  the  more  enlightened  to 
point  out  the  chief  cause  behind  everything 
that  happens.  We  must  systematically 
work  to  learn  thoroughly  the  German  soul, 
so  that  we  may  interpret  the  acts  of  the 
German  people.  Honoured  be  those  who, 
since  the  war,  in  books  or  in  newspapers, 
have  made  their  contribution  to  this  new 
fund  of  knowledge.  But,  in  the  meantime, 

196 


THE  ENEMY 

aided  only  by  our  judgment,  we  can  dis- 
criminate between  that  which  is  an  un- 
avoidable act  of  war  and  that  which  consti- 
tutes a  German  crime. 

In  the  barracks  we  used  to  give  moral 
talks  for  the  benefit  of  the  men,  which 
were  nothing  but  useless  words  then.  We 
have  more  useful  lessons  to  spread  abroad 
to-day.  Let  us  teach  our  soldiers  to  know 
the  enemy  who  lies  buried  in  the  ground 
opposite  our  lines.  Let  them  admire  his 
industry,  discipline,  foresight,  and  love  of 
order;  they  are  confronted  with  the  greatest 
demonstration  of  these  qualities  ever  before 
made.  If  they  feel  hatred  let  us  give  them 
the  real  reasons  for  their  anger.  Let  us 
arm  them  against  the  stupid  argument: 
"They  are  men  like  us."  The  German 
people  are  not  like  us.  There  is  in  their 
psychic  processes  a  fault  which,  to  French 
people,  will  always  make  them  odious 
enemies  in  war  and  insupportable  neigh- 
bours in  peace:  they  are  not  intelligent. 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 


XI 
Intelligence 

OUR  men  are  intelligent.  It  is  wrong 
to  call  them  "poilus."  That  coarse 
name  does  not  suit  them  and  they 
do  not  like  it.  It  evokes  images  of  hirsute 
and  savage  faces.  The  French  soldier, 
even  when  bewhiskered,  remains  an  alert 
fellow,  with  a  bright  eye  and  a  saucy 
repartee.  Only  once  have  I  met  a  captain 
who  spoke  of  his  men  as  "poilus"  and  he 
was  not  a  real  soldier.  It  is  literature 
which  has  made  that  name  fashionable. 
Here  another  is  in  vogue.  We  say  "Our 
types"  or  "What  a  type!" 

Among  one  another  they  often  speak  of 
themselves  as  bonhommes.  But  that  is  a 
name  for  peace  time.  At  the  front  the 
rather  thick  crust  of  the  bonhomme  falls  at 
the  first  encounter  and  the  type  emerges. 
By  the  word  "  type  "  one  means :  a  queer 

198 


INTELLIGENCE 

fellow,  a  remarkable  specimen,  or  an  original 
character.  All  of  our  soldiers  have  deter- 
mined faces.  They  are  full  of  character  and 
always  interesting.  There  is  one  trait 
common  to  all:  intelligence.  But  what 
varied  forms  of  it  they  possess ! 

Sometimes  I  am  angered  by  what  seems 
to  be  imbecile  reasoning  on  their  part  but 
in  that  case  it  is  not  the  brain  which  is  at 
fault  but  the  spirit  which  is  weak.  Some 
talk  nonsense  because  truth  is  compromising 
or  troublesome.  With  others,  pride  is 
responsible;  they  wish  to  appear  well  in- 
formed and  begin  talking  of  things  of  which 
they  are  ignorant.  Wit  and  good  sense  are 
our  great  national  riches.  They  should  be 
utilized  toward  the  best  end. 

At  the  outset  of  the  winter  our  company 
was  designated  for  a  dress  parade  in  a 
neighbouring  camp.  We  were  delighted. 
Only  a  week  before  we  had  caught  a  brief 
glimpse  of  that  very  event  in  passing 
through  a  village  on  our  way  home  from  a 
march.  The  troops  were  drawn  up  in  a 
hollow  square  with  the  flag  in  the  centre. 
Facing  the  flag  was  a  group  of  officers  and,  a 
few  yards  away,  the  hero  of  the  occasion— a 
tall  captain,  dressed  in  a  fine  blue  uniform, 
199 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

his  head  proudly  erect.  He  was  waiting  to 
receive  the  war  cross  and  the  accolade  from 
his  chief.  The  guns  were  booming  all 
around,  but  above  their  din  could  be  heard 
the  shrill  fanfare  of  the  trumpets  opening 
the  ceremony.  We  had  to  turn  off  at  the 
first  cross-road  and  so  lost  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  the  remainder  of  the  spectacle.  As 
we  marched  away  we  all  listened,  trying  to 
make  out,  above  the  noise  of  our  steps  on 
the  road,  the  dying  notes  of  the  brass 
instruments  which  were  joyously  publishing 
the  glory  of  a  soldier.  In  our  ranks  there 
was  not  a  sound,  only  now  and  then  the 
quick  jump  one  takes  to  get  back  into  step. 
We  sought  consolation  in  marching  to  the 
rhythm  of  the  far-away  music. 

So  to-day  there  is  to  be  dress  parade 
again  and  at  last  it  is  our  turn  to  enjoy  the 
beautiful  spectacle.  We  march  off  cheer- 
fully only  to  learn  on  the  village  square 
where  our  men  have  stopped  with  a  happy 
stamping  of  heels,  that  we  are  to  be  the  sad 
witnesses  of  a  military  degradation. 

It  is  quickly  over  for  it  is  a  depressing 
business.  There  are  a  few  brief  orders,  the 
companies  line  up  around  the  square,  facing 
inward.  A  deathly  silence  reigns.  It  is  cold. 

200 


INTELLIGENCE 

"Present  arms!" 

The  men  hold  their  faces  rigidly  for- 
ward but  their  eyes  shift  curiously  toward 
the  little  street  from  which  the  condemned 
man  is  going  to  emerge.  He  appears, 
surrounded  by  six  guards  with  fixed  bayo- 
nets. He  has  a  low  forehead,  a  flat  nose, 
and  a  brutal  chin — a  chin  such  as  I  have 
never  seen  before — long,  flat,  shaped  like  a 
spatula.  Long  legs,  narrow  shoulders,  his 
arms  drooping  as  if  from  the  weight  of  his 
enormous  hands,  he  looks  around  like  a 
caged  animal.  The  clerk  of  the  military 
court  reads  in  a  loud  voice,  with  much 
rolling  of  the  r's  an  interminable  in- 
dictment in  which  the  name,  Christian 
name,  age,  domicile,  and  profession  of  the 
wretched  man  recur  frequently.  We  learn 
the  names  of  his  father  and  mother,  and 
that  he  has  three  children.  He  has  de- 
serted the  front  to  go  and  drink  and  make 
merry  at  the  rear,  while  his  comrades  were 
fighting,  suffering,  and  dying.  He  is  there- 
fore condemned  to  ten  years  of  prison:  he 
well  deserves  it. 

An  officer  approaches  and  says  in  a  low 
voice : 

"Who  is  the  senior  first  sergeant?" 

201 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

"It  is  I." 

"Come  quickly." 

The  non-commissioned  officer  thus  called 
steps  out  of  the  ranks.  He  runs  forward 
and  plants  himself  in  the  middle  of  the 
square,  his  sword  shining  in  the  sunlight.  I 
look  at  him  while  the  dull  reading  con- 
tinues. His  features  have  altered.  His 
face,  which  first  was  red,  is  now  pale  and 
determined.  His  lips  are  grimly  closed.  It 
is  his  mission  to  carry  out  the  sentence  of 
degradation  and  it  is  evident  that  he  is 
deeply  moved.  Others  might  have  a  feeling 
of  disgust,  but  this  reservist,  whom  we  have 
learned  to  love  for  his  heart  of  gold,  takes 
his  duty  more  seriously.  He  understands 
that,  for  an  instant,  he  is  going  to  incarnate 
France  herself  and  that  it  is  only  as  her 
instrument  that  he  is  to  punish  one  of  her 
unworthy  sons.  His  comrades  who  witness 
the  act  will  find  in  it  a  lesson.  He  must 
strangle  all  sensibility  and  perform  the 
sacred  rite  nobly  and  firmly. 

The  commandant  turns  toward  the  con- 
demned man  and  cries  in  a  loud  voice: 

"You  are  not  worthy  of  remaining  a 
soldier.  We  degrade  you." 

Then  quickly,  nervously,  the  little  ser- 

202 


INTELLIGENCE 

geant  approaches  the  wretched  man  and 
begins  to  tear  off  his  buttons  and  insignia. 
They  come  off  with  difficulty  because,  for 
lack  of  time,  it  has  not  been  possible  to 
loosen  them  beforehand  as  is  usual.  It  is 
war!  The  man  sneers  because  in  order 
to  make  the  task  more  difficult  he  has 
attached  two  of  the  buttons  with  wire.  But 
the  material  finally  gives  and  the  sergeant, 
having  finished,  steps  back  into  the  ranks. 
Then  with  measured  steps,  surrounded  by 
his  guards,  the  degraded  soldier  is  paraded 
before  our  ranks.  In  the  emotion  of  the 
moment  the  sergeant  has  forgotten  to  re- 
move his  cap.  One  of  the  soldiers  in  his 
escort  suddenly  noticing  it,  knocks  it  off  with 
a  brusque  gesture.  The  lamentable  proces- 
sion has  soon  covered  the  ground.  In  front 
of  a  wagon  two  gendarmes  receive  the  man 
whom  the  army  thus  casts  out. 

Just  then  a  ray  of  sunshine  breaks 
through  the  clouds  and  falls  on  our  faces 
like  a  caress.  We  march  off,  our  souls 
heavy  with  thought.  Suddenly  a  joyous 
bugle  call  resounds.  The  notes — alert,  gay, 
and  wild — make  our  hearts  leap  with  their 
dizzying  echoes.  We  feel  a  common  pride 
in  the  fact  that  we  are  good  soldiers.  We 
203 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

have  rejected  a  wretch  unworthy  of  us. 
We  have  seen  how  one  must  pay  for  being 
a  traitor  to  one's  duty.  But  just  the  same 
life  is  beautiful.  France  is  glorious,  and 
now  we  go  proudly  to  our  destiny,  with  our 
heads  erect  and  our  lungs  drinking  in  deep 
breaths  of  the  pure  air. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  we  had  settled 
down  to  our  tireless  "route  step."  I  was 
at  the  head  of  my  company  and  so  com- 
pletely lost  in  thought  that  very  soon  I 
found  myself  among  the  rear  men  of  the 
preceding  company. 

"Good  morning,  Lieutenant." 

"  Good  morning.    What  company  is  this  ?" 

"The  iron  company,  sir  Captain  N . 

All  brave  men." 

"Then  you  are  getting  on  all  right?" 

"We  are  getting  on  the  best  we  can,  sir. 
We  laugh  but  we  are  quite  unhappy  just  the 
same." 

"Of  course;  so  is  everybody." 

"We  are  like  that  poor  chap." 

"Whom?" 

"The  one  who  went  away  with  the 
gendarmes.  Ah!  He  is  only  a  luckless 
fellow,  not  different  from  us." 

I  thought  I  was  dreaming. 

204 


INTELLIGENCE 

I  had  just  profited  from  a  great  lesson 
and  I  supposed  that  all  these  men  had 
taken  it  to  heart  the  same  as  I.  It  had 
been  such  a  clear  lesson:  crime  punished 
and  despised  in  the  guise  of  torn  clothing 
and  disgrace.  Duty  and  discipline  honoured 
amidst  the  glorious  tumult  of  the  trumpets 
and  rows  of  gleaming  bayonets  reflecting 
the  rays  of  a  friendly  sun.  I  had  marked 
off  two  kinds  of  men:  on  one  side,  that 
wretch,  and  on  the  other,  the  brave  men 
who  performed  their  duty — ourselves. 

My  soldier  also  saw  two  classes,  but  they 
were  the  strong  and  the  wretched. 

I  studied  him.  He  was  handsome  and 
strong,  with  straightforward  eyes.  I  ques- 
tioned him  to  see  what  he  was  really  worth. 

"And  from  home,  is  there  good  news?'* 

"My  home?" 

"Yes,  your  wife,  your  children?" 

"They  struggle  on." 

"How  many  children  have  you?" 

"Three." 

"You  are  like  that  man  then." 

"Oh!  it  isn't  the  same  thing!" 

"Beg  pardon!  You  said  you  were  all 
luckless  fellows." 

"Yes,  but  we  don't  make  them  throw  us 

205 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

into  prison.    One  grumbles  but  one  does  one's 
work.     You  mustn't  make  that  mistake." 

"It  is  true  he  didn't  look  very  honest, 
the  bonhomme." 

"Honest!  He  was  disgusting.  People 
like  that  ought  to  be  shot." 

"And  don't  people  like  you  deserve  to  be 
punished?" 

"Why,  sir?" 

"To  teach  you  how  to  talk.  What  were 
you  bragging  about  just  now?  You  were 
a  ' luckless  fellow'  just  like  the  other." 

"Oh,  that  was  talk.  When  one  talks  it  is 
well  to  appear  wise.  But  all  the  same  one 
understands  things  and  one  is  different  from 
the  slackers." 

You  may  say  that  that  man  was  only 
stupid.  I  regard  the  crowd  to  which  he 
belongs  as  imbecilic.  In  France  you  will 
find  most  men  intelligent,  but  submerged 
by  the  collective  stupidity.  When  a  man 
speaks  he  wishes  to  appear  wise!  Under 
an  orderly  government,  popular  wisdom 
would  urge  people  to  cultivate  virtues.  To- 
day people  think  it  clever  to  side  with  crim- 
inals. They  are  still  at  the  period  of  Victor 
Hugo's  "  Les  Miserables."  They  have  been 
told  that  they  ought  to  pity  and  excuse  the 
206 


INTELLIGENCE 

outlaws— they  do  it,  although,  privately, 
each  one  knows  the  difference  between  right 
and  wrong.  Assembled  in  herds  the  poor 
"types"  follow  the  bad  shepherds.  Intelli- 
gence is  not  what  they  lack,  but  char- 
acter. 

"They  don't  realize  a  bit  what  is  going 
on!"  a  disillusioned  comrade  said  to  me 
one  day.  "All  the  lessons  of  the  war  will 
be  lost." 

They  understand  perfectly.  Look  at 
them.  At  the  beginning  of  the  campaign 
they  showed  a  wonderful  adaptability  of 
spirit  in  the  open  fighting.  As  clever  at 
unmasking  and  hunting  out  the  Boches 
as  at  dressing  a  chicken,  they  compre- 
hended equally  well  the  necessities  and 
the  resources  of  their  soldier's  craft. 
They  utilized  the  ground  just  as  if  they 
had  spent  their  youth  in  manoeuvring  on  it. 
They  patrolled  methodically,  searching  the 
villages  and  the  houses  without  a  mistake 
or  an  imprudence.  They  divined  and  com- 
pleted the  thoughts  of  their  officers.  The 
only  trouble  with  these  lads  is  that  they 
may  wander  and  become  scattered  and  thus 
be  led  into  a  blunder.  But  here  each 
one  considers  the  war  as  his  own  business. 
207 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

It  is  necessary  to  be  sharp  oneself  to  retain 
the  leadership  in  their  midst. 

At  the  outset  of  the  trench  warfare  there 
were  no  boyaux  behind  the  lines,  and  in 
order  to  communicate  with  the  rear,  it  was 
necessary  to  wait  for  evening  and  go  back 
over  the  exposed  fields.  During  the  blackest 
nights,  without  a  star  to  guide  them,  the 
"types"  would  find  their  way  to  their 
destination,  almost  all  of  them,  by  a  direct 
route.  Instinct  did  not  guide  them.  Who- 
ever trusts  to  it  ends  by  wandering  around 
and  around  in  the  beet  fields,  and  after 
having  "kept  the  cows"  for  several  hours, 
arrives  back  at  the  place  whence  he  started. 
No,  they  walked  according  to  guides  which 
have  remained  a  mystery  to  me  but  which 
their  intelligence  had  recognized  and 
adopted.  The  fact  remains  that  they  arrived. 

In  front  of  the  trench  they  have  pierced 
all  the  mysteries  of  the  plain.  They  know 
where  all  the  little  posts  are  situated  which 
one  cannot  see,  the  machine  gun  emplace- 
ments which  reveal  no  turrets.  To-day  our 
trenches  have  been  ravaged  by  torpedoes. 
Question  any  man  and  he  will  point  to 
you  the  place  from  which  they  were  sent 
and  he  will  give  you  his  reasons  for  thinking 

208 


INTELLIGENCE 

so.  They  know  where  the  German  batteries 
are  hidden.  When  the  shells  whistle  over 
our  heads,  these  men  can  determine,  not 
only  their  direction  and  the  gun  which  has 
fired  them  but  also  the  objective  and, 
according  to  the  noise  they  make,  the 
calibre  of  the  projectiles.  No,  those  men 
are  not  stupid. 

However,  their  intelligence  is  misdirected ; 
is  has  never  been  guided.  They  would 
understand  everything  if  only  their  knowl- 
edge matched  their  comprehension.  That 
they  do  not  know  more  is  due  to  the  un- 
worthy teachers  who  had  enslaved  them. 
The  great  vivacity  of  their  spirits  has 
helped  to  create  this  pitiful  state  of  things. 
Their  brains  have  been  filled  with  social- 
istic theories  at  a  time  when  they  should 
have  been  nourished  with  the  knowledge 
of  sound  moral  principles.  They  have 
been  so  confused  by  sopnistry  that  they  no 
longer  even  recognize  truth.  The  inevitable 
result  has  been  that  distrusting  all  move- 
ments relating  to  the  public  welfare,  they 
withdrew  into  themselves  and  concentrated 
only  upon  the  cultivation  of  their  own  sel- 
fish interests.  Ignorance,  slothfulness,  and 
malignity  ruled  the  land.  Now  this  great 

209 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

people  has  been  disillusioned.  Of  what 
value  was  it  to  them  to  have  been  born 
intelligent,  to  have  been  given  that  strength 
of  spirit  which  can  and  ought  to  master 
everything,  when  unexpectedly  called  with- 
out any  preparation  to  face  great  organized 
armies — provided  with  terrible  weapons? 
If  there  had  not  been  so  rude  an  awakening 
many  of  our  men  would  have  found  them- 
selves humble  and  helpless  face  to  face 
with  the  tremendous  German  machinery. 
Thus,  in  life,  the  boor  who  lacks  everything 
but  the  qualities  of  industry  and  obstinacy 
may  gain  the  advantage  over  a  man  of 
stronger  mind  and  impose  upon  him  his 
will.  A  fool  who  works  can  intimidate  an 
intelligent  man  who  does  nothing.  Laziness 
and  ignorance  create  stupidity,  and  even 
fine  reasoning  is  of  little  avail  against  the 
blow  of  a  club. 

We  are  dealing  with  an  overrated  people. 
The  German  is  a  good  scholar.  In  com- 
petition with  you  French  soldiers,  he  gets 
the  first  prize,  but  it  is  only  because  of  your 
faults.  Cease  to  play  carelessly  with  your 
intelligence;  utilize  it  instead  of  wasting  it 
in  conversation,  and  very  soon  you  will  be 
receiving  the  respect,  praise,  and  admiration 

219 


INTELLIGENCE 

of  the  entire  world.  While  certain  people 
are  still  bowing  before  the  Krupp  factories, 
and  thus  debasing  themselves,  you  can 
restore  to  France  her  glorious  place  of 
Queen  of  Nations,  vacant  since  she  re- 
linquished it.  You  alone  have  power  to 
bring  back  harmony  in  that  European  con- 
cert, which  to-day  is  so  horribly  discordant. 
An  apparently  clever  musical  director  re- 
sided in  Germany.  He  has  shown  his  poor 
talent;  let  us  take  up  the  conductor's 
baton. 

When  shall  we  realize  that  through  our 
own  folly  we  are  wasting  faculties  which 
no  other  people  possess?  We  must  re- 
store intellectual  order  in  France.  Our 
"types"  are  longing  for  truth,  wisdom,  and 
light.  We  will  lead  them  in  the  paths  of 
righteousness  which  they  have  forgotten. 

In  our  country  there  exist  brains  of  suf- 
ficient intelligence  to  find,  amidst  the  uni- 
versal confusion,  paths  which  will  be  solid 
for  the  human  feet.  By  them,  if  there  but 
be  true  chiefs  to  point  the  way,  the  eager 
crowd  can  attain  its  full  expansion  and 
development. 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 


XII 

Jitters 

NEVER  have  the  French  men   and 
women  written  as  many  letters  as 
now.     In    peace    time,   when   our 
men    were    dragging    through    their    slow 
years  of  military  service   sometimes  two, 
sometimes  three,  as  the  case  might  be — 
they  wrote  to  their  parents  but  rarely,  and 
then    without    enthusiasm.     Their   letters, 
written  in  big  characters,  consisted  of  two 
or  three  classic  sentences: 

Dear  Parents:  I  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  tell  you 
that  I  am  in  good  health  and  I  hope  this  letter  will 
find  you  the  same.  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  send 
me  three  francs  or  even  five?  I  cannot  find  more 
to  say  at  present.  I  embrace  you  from  this  dis- 
tance. As  always,  your  son. 

In  the  letters  from  men  of  the  lower 
classes  one  continually  finds  certain  sen- 

212 


LETTERS 

tences  which  enjoy  a  great  popularity.  A 
soldier,  writing  in  1913  to  the  Minister  of 
War,  ended  with  these  words:  "Finding 
no  more  to  say,  I  shake  hands  with  you." 
They  fail  for  want  of  vocabulary.  As  they 
are  not  accustomed  to  writing  they  become 
frightened  when  confronted  by  a  sheet  of 
white  paper.  To  the  people  one  meets, 
one  says  mechanically:  "How  are  you? 
Very  well,  thank  you."  One  says  that  even 
if  one  is  quite  ill.  There  is  no  link  at  all 
between  that  which  people  ought  to  say 
when  they  meet  and  the  words  which  issue 
mechanically  from  their  lips.  Do  not  judge 
that  which  an  uneducated  man  would  like  to 
write  by  the  words  which  he  puts  on  his 
paper.  His  ideas  having  fled  he  grasps 
at  ready-made  sentences.  But  why  al- 
ways the  same  stereotyped  phrases?  All 
the  people  of  France,  for  many  years  at 
least,  have  "taken  the  pen"  have  "hoped 
that  this  letter  would  find  their  dear  par- 
ents the  same";  and  finally  have  found  no 
more  to  say  and  frankly  admitted  it. 

From  father  to  son  they  have  copied  each 
other  thus.  Almost  everyone  copies  some- 
one when  writing.  One  of  our  men — a 
good  old  chap  whom,  on  account  of  age, 

213 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

we  had  placed  in  the  officers'  kitchen  for  the 
sake  of  safety — left  us  recently.  Under  the 
pretext  of  having  only  men  of  the  same  age 
in  a  regiment,  he  was  changed  to  a  ter- 
ritorial regiment.  Once  there  he  lost  his 
title  as  oldest  man  and  became  one  of  the 
crowd.  His  first  letter  filled  us  with  re- 
gret. He  wrote  to  an  orderly: 

My  dear  Paul,  I  have  the  honour  to  inform  you 
that  I  am  busy  digging  in  the  boyaux.  It  is  sad 
when  one  has  been  in  the  kitchens.  There  is  noth- 
ing more  to  say  to  you  for  the  moment.  My  com- 
pliments to  the  officers.  Ever  your  friend. 

Poor  fellow!  Every  day  he  had  seen 
military  notes  beginning  with  the  obligatory 
phrase:  "I  have  the  honour  to  inform 
you."  He  thought  that  it  was  very  good, 
very  dignified.  He  took  pains  in  writing 
his  letter  and  wanted  to  say  whatever  was 
correct. 

But  if  you  write  to  these  people  and  give 
them  good  models,  they  can  also  write 
pretty  letters. 

The  war  has  furnished  the  occasions.  The 
godmothers  are  benevolent  correspondents. 
Our  men  love  these  generous  and  kind- 
hearted  women  who  always  take  the  trouble 

214 


LETTERS 

to  enclose  well-written  notes  in  the  many 
packages  they  send  them.  The  men  de- 
cipher, very  seriously,  the  letters  from  their 
unknown  benefactresses.  All  the  words 
they  find  there  are  weighed,  differentiated, 
and  made  much  of.  The  sentiments  of 
that  far-away  woman,  or  of  that  young 
girl  whose  writing  is  so  refined,  fall  like  a 
caress  upon  the  good  man;  the  affection- 
ate expressions  shake  his  uncultured  soul; 
he  is  moved,  astonished.  Is  that  the  way 
one  ought  to  write?  Well,  if  it  be  pos- 
sible to  let  one's  heart  do  the  speaking 
and  to  put  on  the  paper  what  one  feels,  it 
will  be  possible  to  answer  the  lady.  Every- 
one tries  his  best  and  all  the  old  awkward 
phrases  are  discarded  for  new  ones  which 
are  used  proudly,  according  to  the  example 
of  the  good  marraine, 

Those  unsophisticated  writers  are  clumsy 
only  because  they  are  inexperienced.  When 
you  write  to  them,  Dear  Women,  remember 
that  you  are  teaching  them  a  new  art.  They 
had  never  corresponded  before — outside  of 
business — with  those  whose  education  is 
finer.  Now  when  they  write,  they  talk, 
they  express  human  sentiments.  Their 
hearts  open  toward  one  another  in  a  broth- 
215 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

erly  manner,  and  an  entirely  unknown 
vocabulary  comes  rushing  to  their  lips  and 
permits  their  soul  to  blossom. 

When  you  write  to  our  soldiers,  fill  your 
letters  with  this  divine  music.  Have  in 
mind  that  they  will  try  to  learn  its  notes 
faithfully,  in  order  to  charm  their  wives 
or  fiancees  and  the  old  mother  who  will 
weep  at  hearing  her  boy  speak  to  her  so 
softly.  Do  not  send  sermons  or  long 
speeches;  write  simply.  They  will  won- 
der at  the  fact  that  the  heart  of  a  great  lady 
so  nearly  resembles  that  of  a  poor  man, 
but  they  will  also  learn  that  the  poor  man 
can,  in  his  turn,  send  his  respects  to  the 
beautiful  lady  and  his  love  to  his  betrothed 
in  sentences  almost  alike. 

The  other  day  in  the  firing  trench  I  met 
a  corporal  whose  talk  usually  amuses  me. 
I  was  about  to  ask  him  to  relate  some  of  his 
stories  when  he  gravely  handed  me  a  paper. 

"I  received  this  letter  from  my  old 
woman.  Read  it,  sir."  I  noticed  that  his 
eyes  were  red.  He  added  in  a  low  voice,  try- 
ing to  conceal  a  sob. 

"They  have  killed  my  two  brothers." 

"  Killed  your  brothers !    Who  ? " 

"The  Boches!     Read." 
216 


LETTERS 

I  unfolded  the  paper.  It  was  already 
greasy  and  half  torn  at  the  folds  from  hav- 
ing been  passed  around,  for  the  last  two 
hours,  among  the  members  of  the  squad. 
Here  is  what  I  read: 

MY  DEAR  CHILD: 

I  am  very  unhappy.  Both  your  brothers,  Georges 
and  Auguste,  have  been  executed.  The  Germans 
took  them  from  the  station  to  the  Saint-Louis  church 
with  their  hands  tied  behind  their  backs.  My  poor 
children  knew  that  their  last  hour  had  come.  They 
were  forced  to  dig  their  own  grave.  Think,  dear 
son,  how  they  suffered  during  those  minutes.  They 
begged  the  Germans  to  free  them  but  the  brutes 
would  not  listen  to  them.  You  can  imagine,  my 
dear  son,  what  a  blow  it  has  been  for  your  mother 
to  hear  that  the  blood  of  her  two  defenceless  chil- 
dren has  been  shed  without  their  even  having  known 
the  joy  of  being  soldiers. 

I  do  not  reproduce  this  document  for  the 
facts  which  it  relates.  We  have  all  read, 
almost  everywhere,  such  atrocious  stories. 
Nor  do  I  quote  it  for  the  sentiments  ex- 
pressed. It  matters  little  that  she  belongs 
to  the  humblest  class.  As  a  French  woman, 
a  mother,  her  feelings  are  the  same  as  those 
of  any  woman.  The  point  I  make  is  that 
her  pen  found  the  right  words  to  picture 

217 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

what  she  felt,  to  express  the  horror  and  the 
pity  mingling  in  her  soul. 

To  free  the  people  from  their  habitual 
grooves  of  thought  it  is  necessary  to  give 
them  new  models,  but  what  is  of  chief  im- 
portance is  to  show  them  their  inner  selves. 
Almost  never  do  they  pause  to  contemplate 
themselves  in  life.  Their  sentiments,  their 
thoughts,  their  actions  are  ordered  by 
tradition,  example,  and  habit.  They  de- 
velop unconsciously  with  the  passing  days. 
When  it  becomes  necessary  to  speak  or 
write,  having  no  knowledge  of  their  own 
resources,  they  are  helpless  and  fall  back 
on  stereotyped  phrases. 

They  say  to  you:  "Fine  weather  to- 
day." They  write:  "I  hope  this  letter 
will  find  you  the  same."  But  teach  them 
other  words  and  you  will  see  that  they 
know  how  to  use  them,  and  if  tragic  events 
happen  which  force  them  to  introspection, 
you  will  find  that  they  are  capable  of 
observing,  of  thinking,  and  of  writing 
letters  which  will  bring  the  tears  to  your 
eyes. 

Since  the  second  of  August  events  after 
events  of  tragic  importance  have  repeated 
themselves  unceasingly.  Millions  of  men 

218 


LETTERS 

in  all  the  dugouts  at  the  front  are  scribbling 
on  sheets  of  paper:  millions  of  women  in 
all  the  homes  of  France  are  filling  page 
after  page.  Each  of  them  relates  what  he 
sees,  describes  his  thoughts,  and  lets  his 
heart  overflow. 

These  letters  from  the  multitude  are 
beautiful.  I  delight  in  them  and  I  believe 
that  they  are  beneficial,  which  is  even 
better.  They  reveal  both  to  those  who 
receive  them  and  those  who  write  them 
things  which  are  never  expressed  in  con- 
versation. The  lips,  which  at  all  hours 
of  the  day  carelessly  open  to  pour  forth 
jokes  or  slang,  would  tremble  before  certain 
words  which  come  from  the  bottom  of  the 
soul.  Our  " types"  would  recount  horrors 
without  wincing,  but  would  blush  to  show  the 
concealed  beauty  of  their  spirit.  The  prud- 
ishness  of  the  soldier  no  more  resembles 
that  of  the  young  girl  than  night  resembles 
day;  yet  it  exists  and  would  conceal 
treasures  from  us  if  it  were  not  for  the 
letters.  When  our  men  write  they  feel  as 
if  they  were  whispering  and  that  gives 
them  courage. 

Many  women  have  discovered  in  this 
manner  since  the  war  how  much  their  old 

219 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

companions  in  misery  still  cherish  them: 
husbands  have  had  the  revelation  of  the 
fervent  and  attentive  love  of  their  wives. 
They  lived  side  by  side,  without  speaking  the 
words  the  heart  needs :  now  they  write  them. 

Couples,  separated  for  many  months, 
are  more  united  than  ever.  Not  all  of 
them.  For  in  the  great  crisis  nothing 
remains  mediocre,  neither  vice  nor  virtue. 
And,  while  the  happy  unions  become  closer, 
the  unhappy  ones  insensibly  fall  farther 
apart.  We  are  living  in  a  period  of  low  de- 
bauchery on  the  one  side  and  of  high  exal- 
tation of  the  homely  virtues  on  the  other. 

The  women  of  France — like  Roxane 
in  "Cyrano  de  Bergerac" — decipher  with 
surprise  the  wonderful  notes  which  arrive 
from  the  front.  They  think:  "He  has 
never  spoken  to  me  like  that  before."  It 
is  an  enchantment.  Those  whom  the  wives 
gravely  address  as  "My  dear  husband"  also 
marvel.  Their  eyes  are  open  to  a  new  life, 
soft  and  sentimental,  whose  existence  they 
had  not  previously  suspected.  As  they  have 
leisure  in  the  trench,  they  dream,  after  each 
mail,  of  the  great  joy  of  being  loved. 

When  the  women  of  France  think  of  their 
absent  ones  they  express  themselves  in 

220 


LETTERS 

phrases  which  belong  to  eternity.  One  of 
them  learns  that  her  husband  has  had  to 
leave  the  front  for  the  hospital,  with 
bronchitis.  A  comrade  of  her  "man"  has 
written  her,  taking  pains  to  break  the  news 
gently.  She  answers: 

MONSIEUR: 

I  received  your  letter  two  days  ago.  It  caused 
me  a  very  great  emotion.  My  poor  Charles  is  per- 
haps very  ill  and  he  will  not  want  to  tell  me.  I 
have  not  yet  received  word  from  him.  He  must  stay 
in  the  hospital  for  a  good  month;  then  he  can  go  to 
the  depot  and  come  and  join  me  later,  and  I  can 
render  him  the  gentle  care  which  he  will  desire. 
He  must  have  grown  much  thinner,  poor  friend. 
Let  us  hope  that  God  will  listen  to  my  prayer. 

I  do  not  see  anything  more  to  add  to-day.  My 
little  girl  joins  with  me  in  thanking  you  and  in,  say- 
ing: good  luck! 

(Signed)  Une  dame  fran^aise,  who  wishes  you 
much  happiness  and  hopes  to  have  the  opportunity 
some  day  of  meeting  her  husband's  good  comrade. 

She  will  render  him  the  "gentle  care  which 
he  will  desire."  What  a  pretty  sentence! 
How  could  I  have  said  that  the  simple 
people  repeat  only  ready-made  phrases. 
Here  is  a  new  one  with  a  deep  meaning. 
One  renders  what  one  owes:  one  renders 
devotion  to  God  and  honours  to  a  sovereign 

221 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

and,  this  woman  assures  us,  gentle  care  to 
one's  husband.  Madame  de  Sevigne  could 
not  have  said  it  better. 

She  signs  herself  "  a  dame  of  France."  We 
usually  smile  when  a  person  who  wishes 
to  appear  cultivated  introduces  his  wife  as 
"dame"  and  his  daughter  as  "demoiselle" 
whereas  we  merely  introduce  them  as 
our  wives  and  our  daughters.  I  did  not 
smile  this  time.  Here  at  the  front  we  are 
stopped  at  almost  every  cross-road  by  the 
sharp  challenge  of  the  guard:  "Qui  vive?" 
We  like  to  answer  in  a  clear  voice :  "  France." 
This  woman  does  the  same.  I  salute  her 
for  having  ended  her  letter  with  such  a 
serious  note,  ennobled  by  the  naive  way  in 
which  she  uses  it. 

Dear  French  women,  write  to  us  often! 
Your  letters  bring  your  presence  to  us. 
They  say  that  the  war  has  separated  the 
men  and  the  women,  and  yet  the  union  of 
their  hearts  has  never  been  closer.  Our 
mothers,  our  wives,  our  sisters  people  our 
dreams,  and  this  is  the  country  of  end- 
less dreams.  You  reign  over  us  in  our 
trenches  and  in  our  dugouts.  You  come 
even  into  our  quarrels  and  you  stop  them 
with  a  pretty  gesture. 

222 


LETTERS 

We  once  played  a  low  trick  on  one  of  our 
first  sergeants  which  he  would  never  have 
forgiven  if  it  had  not  been  for  a  woman's 
letter.  In  October,  1914,  a  cow  strayed  into 
the  field  separating  the  German  line  from 
ours.  It  was  coveted  in  both  camps,  both 
for  its  milk  and  its  meat.  One  fine  morn- 
ing there  was  no  more  cow.  We  thought 
the  Boches  had  succeeded  in  capturing  it. 
Six  months  later  we  advanced  our  lines. 
In  a  ravine,  just  midway  between  the 
enemy's  trenches  and  our  own,  our  men 
discovered  a  black  mass.  The  beet-stalks 
were  high  and  it  was  difficult  to  make  it 
out,  but  the  wind  turned  and  carried  toward 
us  an  awful  odour.  It  was  the  dead  cow, 
and  not  more  than  fifty  yards  away  from 
the  old  German  line.  Our  men  swore 
against  those  dirty  people  who  hadn't  the 
courage  to  get  rid  of  such  a  neighbour. 
Two  days  later  we  received  the  order  to 
bury  the  animal,  but  during  the  intervening 
forty-eight  hours  we  had  much  merriment. 

The  sergeant-major  shut  himself  up 
during  the  morning  of  the  first  day.  He 
had  a  large  wooden  sign  post,  which  the 
company  had  received  for  the  purpose  of 
marking  the  name  of  a  boyau,  and  on  it 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

he  was  writing  mysterious  characters. 
When  we  asked  questions  he  rolled  his 
eyes  like  a  conspirator  and  confided  to  us 
with  a  finger  on  his  lips: 

"It  is  about  the  cow;  you  will  see.  Not 
a  word  to  Julien." 

Here  we  designate  our  great  friends  by 
their  Christian  names.  Julien  was  the  first 
sergeant  and  a  great  comrade  of  the 
sergeant-major. 

After  nightfall  the  latter  disappeared 
with  the  placard  under  his  arm.  He  came 
back  without  it,  rubbing  his  hands  together, 
laughing  from  ear  to  ear.  He  said : 

"The  placard  is  on  the  cow,  there  will 
be  some  fun  to-morrow." 

The  next  day,  in  fact,  more  than  fulfilled 
his  expectations.  The  first  sergeant  came 
running  to  our  post,  saluted  the  officer  in 
command  of  the  company,  and  said : 

"My  Lieutenant,  I  must  tell  you  myself 
that  the  Boches  came  up  as  far  as  the  cow 
during  the  night,  and  planted  a  placard." 

"A  placard?" 

"Yes,  my  Lieutenant,  on  the  dead  cow." 

He  seemed  indignant.  He  offered  to  go 
himself  at  night  and  take  away  the  placard. 
We  protected  with  hypocritical  gestures. 


LETTERS 

"  It  is  dangerous,  my  friend." 

"Dangerous  as  much  as  you  like!  We 
must  see  what  they  have  written  and 
answer  them." 

"Yes,  but  not  you.  Send  a  bonhomme. 
It  is  not  the  duty  of  the  chief  sergeant. 
That  cow  has  a  nasty  smell." 

"  My  Lieutenant,  it  stinks " 

"Then  leave  it." 

As  he  stood  hesitating,  I  cunningly  added : 

"  Besides,  you  might  get  killed." 

He  is  brave;  that  made  him  sit  up. 

"I  am  not  afraid." 

Immediately  his  decision  was  made.  At 
dusk  he  went  out  to  the  listening  post  and 
climbed  up  on  the  plain.  He  crawled  under 
the  netting  of  barbed  wire,  which  was 
much  less  of  an  obstacle  at  that  time 
than  now,  and  advanced  toward  the 
animal. 

Have  I  told  you  that  Julien  is  a  butcher 
by  trade?  On  the  placard  the  sergeant- 
major  had  written  these  cruel  words. 

MEAT  MARKET 

JULIEN  S ,  Proprietor 

FIRST  QUALITY  MEATS 
3  francs  the  kilog. 

22$ 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

I  omit  the  surname  here  but  it  was 
written  to  the  last  letter  on  the  sign. 
Arriving  near  the  cow,  the  deluded  fellow 
pinched  his  nose,  put  out  his  hand,  and 
got  hold  of  the  placard.  While  the  Boches 
who  had  heard  him  were  firing  in  all 
directions,  he  came  back  toward  us  hugging 
the  board  to  his  heart. 

He  became  very  angry  when  he  found 
that  he  had  been  made  the  subject  of  this 
joke.  We  were  much  to  be  blamed  for  we 
were  the  ones  who  had  induced  him  to  go 
after  the  sign,  but  he  turned  his  anger 
against  the  sergeant-major. 

He  began  to  look  for  the  latter,  having 
made  up  his  mind,  he  told  us,  to  give  him 
a  lesson.  He  had  a  violent  temper  and 
powerful  fists,  a  combination  which  did  not 
make  us  at  all  happy. 

But  they  were  both  married  and  re- 
ceived letters  from  their  wives  every  day 
which  they  read  side  by  side.  In  those 
letters  one  sentence  often  recurred:  "I  am 
glad  you  have  such  a  good  friend  in  the 
trenches."  That  evening  as  the  first  ser- 
geant entered  the  sergeant-major's  dugout 
to  carry  out  his  threat,  the  man  on  duty 
handed  them  both  their  accustomed  letters. 

226 


LETTERS 

They  forgot  all  the  rest,  sat  down  im- 
mediately, and  began  to  read.  We  arrived 
full  of  anxiety  as  to  a  possible  tragedy  and 
ready  to  interpose  ourselves  if  necessary. 
We  found  them  reading,  but  amidst  a 
heavy  silence  which  might  be  the  fore- 
runner of  a  storm.  They  had  four  long 
pages  each  to  read.  The  first  sergeant 
finally  folded  his  letter  and  glanced  sidewise 
at  the  sergeant-major.  The  quartermaster 
whispered  in  my  ear: 

"It  is  going  to  be  terrible." 

We  held  our  breath.  The  sergeant-major 
also  finished  and  turned  slowly  toward  his 
friend.  In  an  humble  voice,  full  of  affec- 
tionate anxiety,  he  asked: 

"Good  news?" 

"Yes,"  tersely  replied  the  other. 

"Just  think,"  continued  the  sergeant 
with  emotion,  "my  wife  has  sent  me  my 
little  girl's  last  book  of  writing  exercises." 

At  that  the  first  sergeant  changed  colour, 
looked  at  his  adversary  with  envious  eyes, 
and  hitting  the  table  with  his  fist,  exclaimed: 

"That  is  perfectly  wonderful !  Show  it  to 
me." 


227 


XIII 
Honour 

I  NEVER  punish  my  men,"  said  an  officer. 
"I  am  always  severe  with  them,"  said 
another,  "the  only  way  to  control  them 
is  to  threaten  them  with  prison." 

They  .are  both  wrong,  but  in  particular 
the  second.  At  the  front  punishment  must 
be  administered  only  with  great  care.  We 
live  among  the  men  and  therefore  possess 
a  thousand  means  of  influencing  them.  A 
chief  who  punishes  too  often  thereby  con- 
fesses his  own  helplessness. 

It  is  necessary  to  be  severe  sometimes; 
it  is  not  a  matter  of  choice  but  of  conscience. 
One  cannot  say  "I  never  punish";  but  one 
can  say:  "I  would  like  never  to  punish." 

A  man,  in  my  company,  of  rather  gloomy 
disposition  had  developed  the  habit  of 
always  going  off  by  himself  on  the  last 
day  of  each  period  of  rest  and  drinking 

228 


HONOUR 

heavily  in  some  out-of-the-way  inn.  His 
family  of  five  children  lived  in  the  invaded 
regions  and  he  therefore  could  receive  no 
news  from  them.  Whenever  the  time  came 
to  go  back  to  the  trenches  he  would  go  off 
and  drown  his  sorrows  in  this  manner. 

One  can  afford  a  little  leniency  at  times 
with  the  men  who  get  drunk  in  cantonment. 
But  one  can  never  excuse  their  absence 
from  roll-call  when  the  time  has  come  to 
return  to  the  front  and  resume  their  fight- 
ing places. 

One  evening  this  man,  although  missing 
from  the  ranks,  was,  by  some  complicity  on 
the  part  of  his  comrades,  reported  as  present. 
The  company  departed  for  the  trenches 
without  him  and  proceeded  to  relieve 
the  troops  we  found  there.  Almost  at 
once  his  squad  was  assigned,  not  for  guard 
duty,  but  to  do  some  hard  fatigue  work. 
Absent,  he  evaded  it.  His  comrades  knew 
it,  but  not  his  chiefs. 

It  was  very  dark  and  I  was  walking 
through  the  boyaux  an  hour  later  when 
I  met  a  man  who  apparently  was  coming 
from  the  rear. 

"Good  evening,  old  man!" 

"Good  evening,  sir." 

229 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

Was  it  fate  that  made  me  turn  and  call 
to  this  man  after  he  had  passed  me  ? 

"Eh!  Say  over  there!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"It  is  only  me,  my  Lieutenant." 

They  always  answer  like  that  at  night. 
It  is  not  very  illuminating.  I  insisted. 

"Tell  me  your  name." 

He  gave  me  his  name  then,  but  his  con- 
science not  being  very  clear  he  began  to 
make  stumbling  excuses. 

"  I  am  a  little  late  but  I  did  not  know  the 
hour  for  assembly." 

He  had  given  himself  away.  His  fault 
was  without  excuse  and  I  gave  him  four 
days  of  prison. 

You  can  readily  conceive  that  here  we 
do  not  confine  the  men  in  cells.  Punishment 
consists  first  of  humiliation.  It  is  announced 
to  his  comrades  in  the  Bulletin;  it  is  written 
down  in  the  man's  military  record;  it  will 
remain  always  as  an  indelible  stain.  But 
as  some  natures  do  not  mind  that  kind  of 
punishment,  the  high  command  has  also 
ordered  that  the  men  serve  their  prison 
sentence  by  staying  in  the  trenches  when 
their  comrades  go  back  to  the  cantonment. 

230 


HONOUR 

So  when  we  went  to  rest  six  days  later, 
my  man  remained  in  the  first  line.  He  saw 
us  go  with  considerable  sadness.  I  also  felt 
sorrow  at  leaving  him  there,  but  it  was  just. 

The  next  day  a  grenade  killed  him. 

Five  orphans  because  I  punished  that 
man!  I  shiver  to  think  of  the  distress  of 
my  soul  if  my  conscience  had  not  been  so 
clear  and  secure.  I  felt  that  my  action 
could  withstand  even  my  own  criticism  and 
that  I  could  pray  above  that  grave  without 
remorse. 

People  came  from  right  and  left  and  said 
needless  words  to  comfort  me. 

"It  was  written,"  said  one. 

"You  could  not  imagine  that  this  would 
happen,"  said  another.  These  words  shocked 
me.  I  knew  only  too  well  that  this  tragedy 
had  been  brought  about  by  my  action,  but  I 
also  felt  that  no  one  else  had  the  right  to  de- 
clare me  innocent.  It  was  my  conscience 
alone  which  could  absolve  me. 

It  had  done  so.  Yet  I  could  not  help 
thinking  of  the  many  acts  we  perform 
here  without  consideration  of  the^  ulti- 
mate consequences  they  may  entail.  If 
we  punish  in  a  moment  of  anger,  or  for 
revenge,  or  in  order  to  shift  a  compromising 

231 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

responsibility  from  our  own  shoulders  to 
those  of  some  poor  man,  we  totally  ignore 
how  far-reaching  our  fault  may  be.  It 
may  even  become  a  crime  without  our  being 
able  to  foresee  it.  At  the  war  we  are  the 
masters  of  nothing  but  our  conscience. 
Unhappy  be  they  who  do  not  guard  theirs 
severely.  The  soldier's  virtue  must  be 
above  that  of  other  men.  It  bears  the 
beautiful  name  of  Honour ! 

Let  us  to-night  meditate  on  honour.  To 
define  the  meaning  of  this  great  word  let 
us  take  a  very  simple  example  in  the  every- 
day life  of  the  armies  at  the  front. 

For  some  time,  at  stated  intervals,  we 
have  been  given  leave  of  absence  of  six 
days  to  spend  with  our  families.  This 
permission  does  not  begin  to  count  until  the 
arrival  at  the  station  at  one's  destination, 
and  is  cancelled  at  the  same  place,  exactly 
the  six  days  later.  The  time  wasted  in  slow 
trains  or  in  round-about  itineraries  is  not 
included.  The  men  on  leave  have  to  take 
the  military  trains  and  are  frequently  gone 
for  more  than  two  weeks  before  getting  back 
to  the  trenches.  The  officers  are  allowed 
to  travel  separately  on  the  express  trains 
and  thus  are  able  to  return  much  sooner. 

232 


HONOUR 

No  one  can  keep  track  of  the  train  schedules 
or  determine  whether  in  a  given  case  the 
time  limit  has  been  exceeded. 

There  are  three  types  of  officers.  The 
cautious  ones  are  those  who  stay  only  four 
days  with  their  family  and  arrive  back  at 
the  front  on  the  sixth  day.  The  sly  ones 
take  nine  days  at  home  and  when  asked  for 
an  explanation,  invent  long  stories  about 
time  tables  and  trains  which  confuse  even 
the  most  intelligent  of  colonels.  The  third 
type  is  best  represented  by  one  of  my  friends. 
He  stays  the  full,  six  times  twenty-four 
hours,  but  travels  both  ways,  going  and 
coming,  by  the  fastest  trains.  He  satisfies 
in  this  manner,  not  only  his  sentimental 
obligations  to  his  mother  and  family,  but 
also  his  sacred  duties  toward  his  chief.  I 
admire  him. 

I  know  another  who  has  a  high  concep- 
tion of  his  duty.  He  voluntarily  left  his 
wife  and  numerous  small  children  to  join 
the  army.  Yet  he  does  not  hesitate  to 
cheat  a  little  by  overstaying  his  leave  at 
home,  and  to  thank  the  time  tables  for  their 
vagueness.  Although  this  little  irregularity 
does  not  prevent  him  from  being  brave  and 
anxious  to  serve  well,  the  friend  who  is 

233 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

punctilious    about    his    obligations    is    of 
greater  worth.     He  is  a  man  of  honour. 

The  difference  between  these  two  men 
depends  upon  a  difference  in  their  impulses. 
One  responds  only  to  the  great  duties,  the 
less-important  ones  he  does  not  see.  He  is 
impressed  by  the  former  in  the  same  way 
that  an  artist  is  impressed  by  the  great 
spectacles  of  Nature.  He  owes  this  liking 
for  great  ennobling  obligations,  doubtless 
as  much  to  his  education  as  to  the  primary 
qualities  of  his  soul.  But  he  remains  a 
sinner  destined  for  every  weakness.  He 
follows  the  right  things  for  the  love  of  them, 
and  love  is  inconsistent. 

The  other  perhaps  less  brilliant  will  never 
fall.  A  man  of  honour  is  one  who  jeal- 
ously verifies  all  his  actions  himself.  He 
knows  only  one  judge  and  that  is  an  im- 
placable one:  His  conscience.  It  rules 
him  like  a  tyrant.  He  is,  in  his  own  fashion, 
an  individualist,  a  man  who  is  controlled 
by  himself  alone.  We  hear  of  conscien- 
tious citizens:  there  is  an  example  of  what 
they  ought  to  be. 

I  think  that  we  can  offer  this  new 
cult  of  honour  to  our  own  recently  dis- 
illusioned individualists  who  wished  to  free 

234 


HONOUR 

the  human  soul  but  were  betrayed  by  Lib- 
erty, to  their  own  undoing.  They  wanted 
the  free  man  to  be  the  sovereign  judge  of 
right  and  wrong  and  to  make  his  own  laws. 
They  erred  because  sovereignty  is  not  the 
property  of  the  individual  but  of  human 
laws  which  are  superior  to  us.  They  are 
not  an  expression  of  our  will  nor  even  of  the 
general  will;  they  spring  from  the  nature  of 
things  and  beings  in  spite  of  us.  We  do 
not  dominate  them;  they  dominate  us. 
My  reason  has  the  power  to  search  out  and 
formulate  these  laws  but  not  to  make  them. 
It  can  make  mistakes  in  this  research,  but 
I  do  not  call  that  a  prerogative,  it  is  an 
infirmity. 

Thus  the  wise  man  does  not  forge  laws  to 
suit  himself,  he  adheres  to  the  true  ones. 
And  when  the  devotion  that  he  renders 
them  is  so  fervent  that  his  soul  becomes 
jealous  of  his  ability  to  recognize  and  obey 
them,  this  jealousy  is  called  Honour. 

I  am  willing  to  become  an  individualist 
of  that  kind  myself.  Each  man  can  enter- 
tain, at  the  bottom  of  his  soul,  a  divine 
flame  which  shines  for  him  alone  and  whose 
warmth  he  secretly  enjoys.  A  virtuous 
being  is  one  whose  actions  are  straight- 

235 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

forward.  The  man  of  honour  cultivates 
straight  dealing,  not  only  in  his  acts,  but 
even  in  his  inmost  thoughts  and  for  his 
own  particular  satisfaction.  His  virtue  is 
not  higher  but  more  certain.  Proud  and 
egotistical,  Honour  looks  for  its  reward  and 
finds  it  only  in  itself.  In  trying  to  exalt 
the  supremacy  of  the  individual  we  only 
succeeded  in  creating  generations  of  destroy- 
ers. Let  us  create  men  of  honour,  and  the 
individual,  having  become  as  noble  as  a 
God,  will  then  deserve  his  own  admiration. 

Military  Honour  consists  in  doing  one's 
soldierly  duty  even  until  death.  In  that 
sense  honour  is  a  customary  attribute  of  the 
French  people.  I  do  not  know  one  com- 
rade, one  man  around  me,  who  would  not 
be  ready  at  any  tragic  hour  to  give  his  blood 
immediately  for  the  Motherland. 

But  all  are  not  equally  apt  at  the  little 
daily  heroisms  of  which  honour  is  woven. 
The  young  officer  who  threw  himself  first 
into  the  enemy's  trench  has  fully  merited 
his  cross.  He  is  a  brave  man.  And  this 
timid  soldier  whom  I  always  meet  in  front 
of  the  parapet  merely  watching  the  enemy 
will  not  win  a  reward.  It  is  logical  that 
human  honours  go  to  the  one  who  has 

236 


HONOUR 

rendered  a  signal  service.  The  other  one, 
however,  has  his  share  of  merit  and  it  is  not 
the  least. 

He  has  the  joy  of  his  conscience :  a  pleas- 
ure of  rare  quality.  Or  at  least  those  who 
know  how  to  rejoice  in  it  are  rare.  The  man 
I  am  thinking  of  has  aroused  my  constant 
admiration.  Always  at  his  post,  willing, 
obliging  to  his  comrades,  dignified  before 
his  chiefs,  without  shame  dropping  his  rifle 
for  the  shovel,  working  well,  fighting  well, 
eating  and  sleeping  well:  a  perfect  soldier. 
He  knows  but  one  law — his  duty;  but  one 
judge — his  conscience.  He  is  an  upright 
man.  We  have  spoken  much  of  our  demo- 
cratic pride,  so  low,  so  shabby.  It  con- 
sists in  refusing  to  accept  any  order  or  any 
restraint.  The  enemy  of  all  superiority, 
it  detests  all  that  is  noble  and  delights  in  a 
stupid  equality.  True  pride  resembles  it 
but  little.  It  is  the  pride  of  the  independ- 
ent soul  and  the  enemy  of  degrading  yokes. 
It  undertakes  with  tenacity  and  pride  all 
duties,  the  obscure  ones  as  well  as  the 
brilliant  ones. 

After  the  war  those  who  will  have  sur- 
vived the  wild  struggles  for  which  we  have 
been  preparing  ourselves  during  the  last 

23? 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

year  of  war  will  become  the  apostles  of 
honour.  Here  we  have  seen  too  clearly  the 
superiority  of  those  possessing  severe  and 
jealous  consciences  not  to  have  understood 
that  the  greatness  of  man  lies  entirely  in  the 
strength  of  his  soul. 

Doubtless  the  French  will  organize  them- 
selves as  the  Germans  have  done.  But 
they  will  never  become  vile  slaves — for  each 
man,  free,  strong,  and  brave,  will  put  his 
pride  in  censuring  himself.  It  is  natural 
that  Honour  should  once  more  become  a 
national  virtue  in  the  country  of  so  many 
struggles  for  independent  ideas. 


238 


THE  MOTHERLAND 


XIV 

The 

HERE  is  a  man  on  guard  in  the 
trenches.  He  is  watching  vigi- 
lantly and  his  expression  is  one  of  ha- 
tred as  he  holds  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  enemy 
line.  I  approach  him  and  tap  his  shoulder. 

"What  are  you  doing  there?" 

"  I  am  on  watch,  my  Lieutenant." 

"But  what  else?" 

"  I  keep  my  eye  on  the  Boches." 

"And  what  is  behind  your  back?" 

"Our  sleeping  comrades." 

"Yes,  but  behind  them?" 

"The  beet  fields." 

"And  farther  behind?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know." 

I  looked  into  his  eyes ;  they  are  empty  of 
thought.  The  good  man  would  very  much 
like  to  make  a  suitable  reply,  but  where  is  he 
to  find  it  ?  Let  us  help  him. 

239 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

"Why,  thoughtless  fellow,  there  is 
France." 

"It  is  true,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that." 

Why  should  he  think  of  it?  Ever  since 
childhood  he  has  heard  nothing  but  that  all 
men  are  brothers,  that  frontiers  no  longer 
exist  and  that  the  idea  of  a  Motherland  is 
a  wicked  invention  of  tyrants  and  capital- 
ists. Patriotism  survived  only  in  the  soil 
and  in  tradition.  The  French  are  linked 
together  at  present  by  virtue  of  the  war; 
the  common  trial.  But  to  know  and  love 
France,  the  Motherland,  one  must  have 
either  lived  close  to  her  soil  or  studied  her 
history.  This  man  works  and  lives  in  the 
city;  he  has  not  had  the  opportunity  to 
develop  a  deep  attachment  for  a  field,  or  a 
meadow,  or  an  old  familiar  brook.  The 
books  which  have  been  given  him  to  read 
have  only  taught  him  errors. 

If  I  put  the  same  question  to  a  peasant 
he  will  be  no  whit  more  eloquent.  The 
little  motherlands  which  each  village  used 
to  constitute  have  been  at  least  spoiled,  if 
not  entirely  destroyed.  The  mere  fact  of 
having  spent  one's  days,  happy  or  dreary 
alike,  on  a  certain  patch  of  land  is  not  alone 
sufficient  to  make  one  recognize  in  it  the 

240 


THE  MOTHERLAND 

Motherland.  The  ground  must  also  have 
been  peopled  with  the  images  of  the  dead 
ancestors  who  have  formerly  owned  it  one 
after  the  other;  who  have  done  the  same 
things  at  the  same  seasons — sung  and 
danced  on  big  feast  days,  prayed  in  the 
same  church  still  standing,  and  lived  the 
same  simple  life,  rich  in  remembrances  and 
promise — as  the  present  owner.  The  peas- 
ant who  keeps  these  traditions  is  bound  to 
be  patriotic,  if  not  to  his  thirty-nine  millions 
of  living  brothers,  at  least  to  his  fathers. 
He  will  love  France,  if  not  for  its  present 
strength  and  size,  at  least  for  its  past.  Not 
being  educated,  but  knowing  more  the 
history  of  his  country  that  its  geography, 
he  will  be  capable  of  dying  on  the  battle- 
field, and  of  telling  you  why  he  is  willing  to 
make  that  sacrifice. 

Formerly  in  the  countryside  there  were 
additional  influences  at  work  to  broaden 
the  views  of  the  agriculturists  and  to  show 
them  the  glory  of  their  Motherland.  The 
grandmothers  told  stories  of  heroes;  the 
priest  gathered  his  parishioners  around  him 
to  sing  "  Te  Deums"  in  honour  of  the 
king's  victories;  the  lord  of  the  Manor 
and  his  followers,  when  they  came  back 

241 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

from  national  wars,  brought  the  echoes 
with  them.  Thus,  Joan  of  Arc  when  but 
a  child,  was  able  to  conceive  the  idea  of 
France,  the  nation,  although  living  in  the 
little  out-of-the-way  village  of  Domremy, 
yet  in  those  days,  with  no  telegraph, 
next  to  no  post,  no  railways,  and  practically 
no  roads,  France  was  a  far  more  distant 
empire  to  this  peasant  girl  than  the  whole 
universe  to  a  man  of  the  twentieth  century. 

To-day  our  natal  soil  has  lost  much  of 
its  virtue.  The  songs  of  long  ago  are 
forgotten  and  peasant  and  shepherdess  re- 
peat only  the  refrains  of  the  music  halls. 
They  no  longer  go  to  church.  The  old 
women  are  silent  and  no  longer  recognize 
in  their  city-bred  children  the  reflection  of 
their  own  image.  Instead  of  revering  the 
dead  this  new  generation  looks  down  on 
them  from  a  lofty  height  with  pity  for 
their  ignorance.  The  young  men  dance 
nothing  but  the  waltz,  the  cake-walk,  and 
the  Argentine  tango. 

I  am  wrong.  Four  of  our  men  from 
the  neighbourhood  of  Saint-Flour  still  know 
the  "bourree*.  They  often  dance,  or  rather 
"jump"  it  for  our  entertainment  at  the 

*French  peasant  dance  from  the  province  of  Auvergne. 
242 


THE  MOTHERLAND 

cantonment.  We  never  tire  of  watching  the 
mincing  manners  of  these  bearded  moun- 
taineers. They  pound  their  muddy  feet  on 
the  ground,  bow  to  their  partners,  seize 
them  by  the  waist,  back,  and  whirl,  all 
with  the  same  happy  smile  and  to  the 
plaintive  music  of  an  accordion.  These  four 
men  have  brought  the  whole  of  their  old  Au- 
vergne  country  among  us  with  their  dance. 

Only  a  certain  provincial  patriotism  has 
survived  among  the  people  from  the  rural 
districts.  It  is  narrow  and  exclusive  but, 
nevertheless,  it  does  not  offend  me.  Since 
the  beginning  of  the  war  our  soldiers  have 
wandered  everywhere.  Men  mobilized  from 
the  farming  regions  of  the  North,  who  were 
sent  through  the  "Vienne"  valley,  so 
beautiful  between  Limoges  and  Angouleme, 
could  scarcely  hide  their  contempt  for 
ground  where  only  grass  and  trees  are  able 
to  grow. 

"Don't  they  have  any  wheat  around 
here?"  they  asked. 

The  men  from  the  centre  of  France, 
accustomed  to  the  fresh  valleys,  pretty 
meadows,  and  groves  of  chestnut  trees,  were 
amazed  at  seeing  the  rich  but  monotonous 
plains  of  Picardy  and  Artois. 

243 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

To  fortify  and  strengthen  the  frail  love  that 
each  of  these  men  bears  to  his  own  corner 
of  the  earth  it  would  have  been  enough  to 
teach  them  the  grandeur  of  the  common 
Motherland. 

The  war  is  a  splendid  opportunity  for 
doing  this  very  thing.  Instead  the  news- 
papers tell  them  that  they  are  fighting  for 
the  civilization  and  liberty  of  the  world. 
Nobody  among  the  popular  writers  thinks 
of  singing  the  praises  of  our  Motherland,  or 
claiming  that  it  is  for  her  sake  that  all 
this  fine  blood  is  being  shed. 

They  read,  just  as  I  do,  sentences  of  this 
kind  in  the  morning  newspapers:  "We  are 
not  fighting  for  ourselves,  it  is  for  the 
world  and  the  future.  What  are  a  few 
months  of  war  in  comparison  with  the  fifty 
or  a  hundred  years  of  prosperity  and  peace 
which  we  are  preparing?  Let  our  arms 
triumph  and  the  whole  earth  will  be  at 
rest." 

Thus  it  is  not  for  our  own  sakes  that  we 
are  fighting,  and  the  blood  which  we  have 
shed,  the  ruined  villages,  the  horrible  suffer- 
ing, the  devastation,  and  the  mourning  in 
France  are  for  the  happiness  of  the  human 
race!  Some  misguided  French  people  dare 
244 


THE  MOTHERLAND 

to  write,  although  they  do  not  even  know 
how  to  think.  They  do  not  realize  that 
they  have  a  Motherland.  They  see  only 
vague  forms  in  the  clouds,  when  right  in 
front  of  their  eyes  is  living  the  most  ani- 
mated, saintly,  and  tragic  of  figures;  this 
France,  the  inheritance  of  a  hundred  gene- 
rations of  ancestors;  where  we  have  been 
born,  where  we  draw  our  breath  and  which 
we  will  leave  to  our  sons,  as  sweet  as  she  was 
when  we  first  looked  on  her. 

There  are  a  few  of  us  who  do  not  wish 
any  one  to  alter  our  language,  our  old 
customs,  our  cherished  habits,  our  soil,  our 
houses.  We  havegood  qualities  and  faults : let 
us  keep  them !  The  Germans  may  cultivate 
their  virtues  and  their  vices  at  home  but 
they  must  not  overflow  on  us.  To  each 
man  his  Motherland.  We  are  fighting  for 
ours. 

No  doubt  this  atrocious  war  will  still  be 
long  and  always  more  cruel.  What  shall 
we  do  when  it  is  finished?  The  dreamers 
say  that  peace  will  bring  universal  dis- 
armament. I,  who  dream  of  my  hearthside 
and  of  my  children,  do  not  speak  in  this 
manner.  After  the  war  I  hope  that  we  will 
surround  France  with  such  safeguards  as 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

will  protect  her  for  all  time.  We  will  not 
be  the  only  ones  to  profit  by  the  victory. 
Both  in  a  business  sense  and  in  self- 
development,  other  nations,  perhaps  more 
than  ours,  will  find  themselves  the  gainers 
by  the  peace  which  they  will  have  helped 
to  purchase  so  dearly.  Owing  to  a  fatal  law, 
strong  peoples  in  both  hemispheres  may 
become  a  menace  to  their  less-vigorous 
neighbours.  God  keep  us  then  from  being 
among  the  worn-out  nations ! 

The  war  over,  we  shall  be  condemned  to 
continue  the  cultivation  of  our  muscles.  We 
are  going  to  win  in  spite  of  our  great  weak- 
ness which  might  have  cost  us  defeat.  May 
the  victory  restore  to  us  the  liking  for 
physical  strength.  I  am  unable  to  think  of 
the  whole  of  humanity,  but  of  France  alone, 
while  French  blood  is  flowing.  I  am  not 
tempted  to  betray  our  dead,  nor  to  ruin 
the  cause  for  which  they  are  dying  by 
thousands.  They  fall  to  save  the  Mother- 
land. If  I  survive  the  slaughter  yet  to 
come,  I  will  consecrate  all  the  days  that 
God  will  give  me  to  the  safeguarding  of 
this  sacred  Motherland.  After  that  is 
done,  if  I  have  five  minutes  to  spare,  I  will 
busy  myself  with  the  human  race. 

246 


THE  MOTHERLAND 

Our  soldiers  are  wholeheartedly  striving 
to  perform  the  new  duty  which  has  con- 
fronted them.  They  hold  their  posts,  some 
of  them  without  comprehending,  the  others 
only  half  understanding.  An  interior  force 
upholds  them,  just  as  faith  proves  the  ex- 
istence of  God.  Their  patriotic  instinct 
renders  to  the  sovereignty  of  their  race  a 
touching  homage. 

These  simple  men,  who  hardly  know  why 
they  are  here,  and  those  dupes  who  are 
fighting  only  for  empty  words,  give  way  to 
the  ascendency  of  a  third  class  of  French 
people:  those  who  know  and  love  the 
Motherland. 

For  there  are  some  men  who  have  neither 
fallen  into  ignorance  nor  fatal  errors. 
While  the  demagogues  preached  the  social 
war  they  prepared  their  souls  in  silence 
for  the  national  war.  The  men  in  power 
busied  themselves  with  the  happiness  of 
humanity:  they  were  thinking  of  French 
prosperity.  The  army  was  being  disor- 
ganized: they  regarded  it  as  a  defense  of 
last  resort.  These  men  of  deep  wisdom 
seldom  appeared  in  public:  they  lived  in 
their  homes.  The  family  is  the  first  Mother- 
land. Who  loves  one  serves  the  other. 

247 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

We   have    in    France    quantities    of   noble 
families,    poor   and    rich    alike,   who   have 

flven  their  best  blood  to  the  country, 
rom  them  came  the  group  of  splendid 
youths  who,  at  the  first  call,  hurried  to  form 
the  front  line;  thus  the  best  went  toward 
death  with  exaltation  to  save  the  others. 

Each  time  I  search  for  a  typical  French 
family,  my  thoughts  obstinately  revert  to 
certain  homes  at  Lille  where  my  childhood 
days  were  spent.  How  many  young  men  in 
the  spring  of  robust  youth  are  gone,  never 
more  to  animate  the  streets  and  the  houses 
of  my  old  city?  Behind  that  curtain  of 
frail  trees  which  shuts  off  our  horizon  in  the 
rear  of  the  enemy's  trenches  lies  a  rich  and 
noble  part  of  France,  where  crying  widows 
and  mothers  still  wait  for  those  who  will 
never  come  back. 

It  was  there  that  I  learned  to  know  my 
Motherland.  I  am  not  from  Lille  by  birth, 
but  all  the  first  years  of  my  studies  were 
spent  there  and  I  have  made  precious 
friendships  in  that  city.  My  country  is 
not  the  French  Flanders  where  I  have  lived, 
nor  the  Ile-de-France  where  I  was  born. 
I  belong  to  the  whole  of  France,  but  it  was 
at  Lille  that  I  first  learned  it.  Because  I 

248 


THE  MOTHERLAND 

grew  up  with  all  my  comrades  in  the  midst 
of  fervent  national  traditions,  I  have  neither 
difficulty  nor  merit  in  serving  to-day.  I 
wish  the  same  ardent  devotion  could  be 
put  in  every  French  soul.  One  does  not 
fight  better,  but  with  more  love. 

My  love  for  the  Motherland  increased 
the  day  I  learned  that  the  enemy  had  pro- 
faned Lille  with  his  presence.  It  horrifies 
me  to-day  to  think  that  the  Prussians  are 
patrolling  in  the  streets  where  I  walked 
when  I  was  a  child.  They  camp  in  the 
Citadelle  where  I  began  my  classes  and  won 
my  first  military  honours.  Germans  are 
now  sleeping  in  the  barracks  where  I  en- 
joyed my  wonderful  youthful  slumbers. 
Will  a  rifle  wake  them  up  to-morrow? 
What  will  the  echoes  of  the  Bois  de  la 
Deule  say— or  those  of  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne? Let  the  booted  Hessians  strike 
their  heels  on  the  hard  pavements  of  Lille; 
that  land  can  never  belong  to  them. 

My  watchman,  the  one  who  keeps  his 
eyes  on  the  Bodies  with  an  expression  of 
anger,  does  not  think  of  so  many  things. 
Yet  he  is  brave  and  would  make  a  good 
patriot  if  he  had  only  been  taught  how. 
Some  day  I  will  go  and  sit  with  him  in  a 

249 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

corner  of  the  trench  and  I  will  teach  him 
gently  how  to  cherish  France. 

What  models  will  I  place  before  him  ?  I 
will  choose  from  among  those  whom  the  war 
has  already  taken  from  us.  The  young 
poet  Gauthier  Ferrieres  died  a  few  days  ago 
at  the  Dardanelles.  Is  it  possible  that  the 
image  of  a  poet  can  influence  this  uncul- 
tured man?  Why  not?  It  is  a  time  for 
war  songs  and  for  magnificent  dreams.  I 
was  greatly  attached  to  Ferrieres,,  who  was 
a  delightful  man  and  a  fervent  patriot. 
On  some  things  we  thought  and  reasoned 
differently,  but  as  soon  as  it  was  a  question 
of  France,  we  were  agreed.  He  admired 
all  our  great  men  with  a  very  personal,  a 
very  ardent,  and  a  very  jealous  love.  He 
was  at  one  time  furiously  angry  with  Jules 
Lemaitre  because  he  had  criticized  Cha- 
teaubriand. He  would  not  permit  anyone 
to  speak  of  Racine  except  to  glorify  him. 
He  knew  familiarly  all  the  campaigns  of  the 
Emperor  and  liked  to  talk  about  them.  I 
shall  always  remember  the  expression  of  his 
face  when,  in  my  study,  he  would  recite  to 
me  the  speeches  of  his  hero.  He  spo"ke 
with  the  same  pride  of  the  Roi  Soleil 
and  knew  the  merits  of  the  treaties  of 

250 


THE  MOTHERLAND 

Westphalia  as  thoroughly  as  any  of  the 
contemporary  historians.  Love  gave  to 
this  dreamer  the  foresight  of  a  prophet  as 
soon  as  France  was  in  question.  Alas! 
He  was  mistaken  only  in  thinking  that  he 
would  be  with  us  when  we  again  entered 
Alsace 

Oui,  quand  s  eteindront  les  fournaises, 

Apres  les  glorieux  combats. 
C'est  avec  les  couleurs  francaises 

Que  nous  retournerons  la-bas. 

Alors  du  Rhin  jusqu'  a  la  Meurthe 

On  pourra  rire  et  rire  encore*.     .     .     ,     . 

The  bursting  of  a  Turkish  shell  decreed 
that  this  handsome  son  of  France  shall 
never  march  on  the  road  to  Strassburg 
and  sing  his  joy  in  song.  However,  by 
grace  of  Heaven,  he  died  a  hero,  in  an  his- 
toric land,  on  one  of  those  Oriental  shores 
whose  colours  and  antique  glory  always 
enchanted  his  Muse. 


*"When  after  glorious  combats, 
The  fires  are  at  last  extinguished, 

With  the  French  colours  flying 
We  will  return  to  Alsace 

"Then,  from  the  Rhine  to  the  Meurthe, 
Smiles  and  laughter  will  reign" 

251 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

Let  us  fashion  our  souls  after  his.  We 
must  be  ourselves  jealous  lovers  of  the 
Motherland,  in  order  to  instruct  those 
ignorant  people  who  either  have  forgotten 
the  name  of  their  country,  or  who  render 
their  devotion  only  to  high-sounding,  hu- 
manitarian words.  We  need  not  blush  if  our 
passion  is  exclusively  for  her;  we  are  in 
good  company.  The  enemy  himself  teaches 
us  that  lesson. 

To  give  material  for  our  own  meditations 
and  an  object  lesson  for  conversation  with 
the  men,  we  have  been  handed  the  text  of 
a  long  letter  found  on  a  prisoner.  I  remem- 
ber a  striking  passage  from  it.  The  Ger- 
man was  trying  to  prove  to  his  correspon- 
dent that  his  country,  not  being  able  to 
do  better,  will  at  least  arrive  at  an  honour- 
able peace — a  white  peace. 

He  goes  on  in  substance: 

On  what  do  I  found  this  conviction  ?  First  of  all, 
on  our  patriotism,  on  our  sense  of  discipline,  on  our 
genius  for  organization  and,  above  all,  on  the  in- 
capacity for  organization  of  our  adversaries. 

Ah!  If  they  could  unite  their  resources  with  our 
qualities  of  method  and  of  initiative,  we  should 
certainly  be  lost.  I  shiver  at  the  thought  of  what 
we  would  do  in  their  place,  of  what  would  menace 

252 


THE  MOTHERLAND 

us  if  they  knew  how  to  utilize  their  power.     Our 
backs  would  be  broken! 

In  order  to  break  their  backs,  as  he  calls 
it,  it  is  only  necessary  to  do  certain  things: 
discipline  our  forces,  but  above  all  learn 
to  know  our  enemy.  If  we  knew  our 
power  we  would  not  allow  it  to  be  wasted. 

Let  us  terminate  these  pages  by  together 
looking  at  our  country  with  loving  eyes: 
it  is  a  good  pastime  in  the  trenches. 

It  is  five  o'clock,  my  comrades  are  play- 
ing bridge  at  the  bottom  of  a  cave,  and  I  am 
reading  beside  them.  The  line  has  been 
calm  this  afternoon  and  there  has  been 
neither  bombardment  nor  shooting  on 
either  side.  Suddenly  there  comes  a  fusil- 
lade which  brings  us  out  of  our  dugout. 
The  German  bullets  clip  the  parapet  with  a 
wailing  sound.  Our  rifles  crackle  in  return. 
What  is  going  on?  Some  of  the  men  lift 
their  heads  and  with  a  grimace  look  at  the 
sky.  Up  there  an  enemy  airplane  is  flying 
above  our  trenches.  All  eyes  and  weapons 
are  fixed  on  it.  The  watchmen  opposite  are 
firing  at  our  earthworks  in  order  to  divert 
our  attention  and  take  our  shots  away  from 
their  comrade.  Much  noise  and  stirring 
about,  all  for  a  nasty  bird  of  prey  which 

253 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

one  can  scarcely  distinguish  in  the  sky  and 
whose  buzz  is  so  distant  that  it  sounds  like  a 
mosquito.  Now  the  artillery  begins  to  roar. 

The  shells  ascend  with  a  shrill  whistle 
and  burst  about  the  Taube  in  a  number  of 
tiny  white  clouds  like  tampons  of  cotton 
wool. 

"Too  short!" 

"He  can  get  past!" 

"He  won't  get  past!" 

The  German  proceeds  cautiously,  the 
centre  of  noise  and  shrapnel.  An  exciting 
chase,  but  it  is  seldom  that  the  object  of 
these  menaces  and  imprecations  is  hit. 
However,  it  is  possible  to  bar  his  route  with 
more  or  less  success  and  when  he  is  turned 
back  a  point  is  scored  on  our  side. 

These  aerial  dramas  take  place  usually  in 
the  early  morning  hours  or  just  before  our 
evening  meal.  We  have  seen  the  Germans 
waste  more  than  two  hundred  shells  in  a 
few  minutes  on  some  of  our  airplanes.  'Our 
hearts  beat  fast  when  one  of  our  daring  pilots 
goes  straight  for  their  lines  and  disappears 
into  the  horizon.  They  storm  at  him  with 
their  machine  guns  and  heavy  artillery  and 
we  laugh  with  joy  when  we  think  of  those 
Frenchmen  looking  down  at  them  and  snap- 

254 


THE  MOTHERLAND 

ping  their  fingers  while  they  empty  their 
munition  box. 

And  it  is  an  invention  of  ours,  this 
marvellous  little  thing  at  sight  of  which  our 
souls  grow  humble  with  admiration.  It  is 
now  nearly  a  year  that  we  have  been  break- 
ing our  necks  in  trying  to  follow  the  course  of 
the  same  miracle  through  the  air  and  yet  we 
have  not  grown  weary.  At  first  the  enemy 
airplanes  provoked  us.  They  seemed  to 
have  usurped  one  of  our  own  particular 
glories  in  planing  above  our  heads.  We 
know  now  that  we  are  stilJ  the  masters  of  the 
air.  They  have  numerous  and  well-made 
machines  and  a  wonderful  organization;  as 
they  are  always  quick  to  adapt  and  perfect 
the  ideas  of  others.  The  genius  remains 
with  us. 

At  Hebuterne  a  French  pilot  took  part 
in  the  attack  on  the  enemy  trenches.  He 
came  down  to  within  fifty  yards  of  the 
earth,  spitting  fire  into  the  boyaux  with  his 
machine  gun,  flew  up  and  plunged  once 
more,  sowing  death  among  our  enemy  and 
intoxicating  our  men  with  enthusiasm. 
Patriotism  has  been  lulled  to  sleep  by  the 
words  of  the  humanitarian  philosophers. 
That  day  I  saw  it  suddenly  flame  in  the  eyes 

255 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

of  the  men  just  as  the  blood  rises  up  under 
the  skin  in  moments  of  great  emotion. 
When,  following  one  of  these  aerial  battles, 
our  old  soldiers,  their  muscles  stiff  but  their 
souls  exalted,  let  their  eyes  fall  to  the  sad 
earth  of  the  trenches,  they  regard  each 
other  silently,  but  what  a  light  glows  from 
behind  their  dusty  lashes.  It  is  the  joy  of 
being  French  that  shines  in  them;  at  that 
instant  it  would  be  easy  with  a  few  well- 
chosen  words  to  move  them  to  tears.  They 
go  back  to  their  shelters  with  their  slow, 
accustomed  tread,  but  that  night  they 
sleep  with  peace  in  their  hearts  and  the  kiss 
of  France  upon  their  foreheads. 

The  Germans  say  they  are  masters  in 
the  art  of  war.  Yet  they  are,  in  reality,  as 
much  our  pupils  in  this  domain  as  they  are 
in  most  others.  Their  chemists,  whose 
praises  all  are  singing,  have  invented  neither 
the  smokeless  powder  nor  the  melinite. 
Those  redoubtable  rifles  and  high-velocity 
projectiles  which  have  revolutionized  the 
methods  of  fighting  were  possessed  by  us 
before  they  were  by  them.  Their  Emperor 
as  he  went  to  war  said  with  pride: 

"  I  shall  be  victorious  because  I  have  my 
cannon." 

256 


THE  MOTHERLAND 

We  also  have  ours,  that  wonderful  75 
which  has  been  the  admiration  of  all  the 
soldiers  of  the  world.  This  terrible  weapon 
can  never  be  praised  too  much.  The  ene- 
my's heavy  artillery  found  us  unprepared 
at  the  beginning,  but  it  was  French  fore- 
sight, not  French  genius,  which  was  then 
at  fault.  It  would  be  easy  to  point  to  the 
victories  of  our  great  past  in  the  same  way 
that  the  present  Greeks  content  them- 
selves with  the  ancient  victories  of  Salamus 
and  Marathon.  Thank  goodness  we  have 
more  recent  proofs  of  the  strategic  sound- 
ness of  French  brains;  the  lieutenants  of 
William  II  found  their  master  on  the  Marne 
and  on  the  Yser. 

It  is  the  same  upon  the  sea,  no  matter 
what  one  may  think.  If  it  be  true  that 
the  English,  when  they  attack,  massacre 
the  enemy  and  refuse  him  quarter,  crying 
"Lusitania!  Lusitania!"  I  confess  I  find 
no  strength  to  blame  them,  for  the  Germans 
are  pirates.  At  one  time  the  world  had  a 
right  to  tremble  before  the  prowess  of  the 
German  flotillas;  we  might  fear  that  the 
powerful  fleets  of  England  and  her  allies 
would  be  forced  to  relinquish  the  mastery 
of  the  seas  to  the  small  underwater  boats. 

257 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

Experience  has  shown  that  in  spite  of  the 
sting  of  an  insect  which  pricks  here  and 
there  and  downs  a  few  lions,  the  laws  of 
Nature  do  not  change:  the  lion  remains 
king.  Just  the  same  we  must  admire  those 
wonderful  instruments  which  French  genius 
has  invented.  If  someone  tells  you  to  see 
in  them  the  evidence  of  German  ingenuity, 
then  remember  our  Goubet,  dying  in  pov- 
erty after  having  invented  the  first  sub- 
marine, and  our  Gustave  Zede,  builder  of 
the  first  submersible. 

"Then  have  we  created  for  the  benefit  of 
others?" 

"Perhaps." 

"And  plucked  the  chestnuts  out  of  the 
fire?" 

"Doubtless." 

"It  is  a  proof,  one  more  proof,  that  we 
are  not  well  organized.  Who  denies  it?" 

But  that  also  proves  that  we  can  love, 
cherish,  and  venerate  with  pride  and  devo- 
tion our  Motherland  as  the  most  beautiful 
sovereign.  Let  us  love  and  serve  her  not 
with  words  but  with  acts.  We  have  talked 
much  during  the  last  fifty  years:  the 
reign  of  eloquence  is  over.  A  patient, 
courageous,  persevering  effort  will  restore 

258 


THE  MOTHERLAND 

to  us  the  place  which  we  ought  to  occupy 
at  the  head  of  the  nations.  Babblers, 
dreamers — let  us  rather  call  them  by  their 
true  name,  traitors  to  their  country — had 
promised  to  the  people  a  lazy  existence, 
free  from  suffering,  disappointment,  and 
conflicts.  It  is  important  for  France  to 
understand  at  this  time  when  all  her  sons 
are  facing  death,  once  and  for  all,  the 
treachery  of  these  promises.  This  nation 
is  now  strong  and  wise  enough  to  listen  to 
the  truth. 

Let  us  teach  our  children  to  taste  the 
life-giving  flavour  of  accomplished  duty. 
Let  us  savour  it  ourselves.  Let  us  under- 
stand that  peace  will  not  be  eternal.  It  is 
possible  that  the  various  peoples  of  the 
universe  will  extend  to  us  their  friendship 
after  the  victory.  Let  us  hope  for  it  with- 
out discounting  it.  It  is  not  enough  to  be 
loved  for  the  arts  in  which  we  excel  and 
praised  for  our  good  name  and  the  bravery 
of  our  armies.  When  the  larger  task 
is  accomplished  let  us  not  hesitate  before 
the  more  humble,  but  equally  beautiful, 
effort  of  hard  and  monotonous  daily  labour. 
French  intelligence  and  French  strength  have 
once  more  found  proof  of  their  existence 

259 


COMRADES  IN  COURAGE 

and  of  their  worth.  It  had  been  denied 
that  we  still  remained  what  we  once  were. 
We  now  know,  in  company  with  the  entire 
world,  that  the  blood  of  our  fathers,  the 
kings  of  Europe  and  of  the  world  by 
virtue  of  their  manly  qualities  and  genius, 
still  runs  in  our  veins.  We  must  not 
content  our  pride  with  this  alone,  but  let  us 
resolve  to  demonstrate  the  same  valiantness 
in  peace  as  we  have  shown  in  war.  On 
that  condition  alone  will  we  give  back  to 
France  and  to  ourselves  that  liberty  so 
madly  invoked  in  the  last  century  and  yet 
always  betrayed. 

Thus  French  glory  can  illuminate  the 
world  if  we  only  wish  it.  We  must  entertain 
this  thought  in  our  hearts  and  proclaim  it 
all  about  us.  It  is  our  only  true  comfort  at 
such  a  time  as  this  and,  if  we  wish  to  avoid 
falling  back  into  our  former  errors  after  the 
war,  it  must  be  our  chief  reliance. 

Why  are  we  righting?  Solely  to  retain 
mastery  of  our  own  genius,  to  draw  from 
it  noble  joys  and  just  profits  when  we  have 
once  more  become  wise. 

December,  1914 — August,  1915 

THE    END 


THE  COtFNTBT  LIFE  FRE8S 
GARDEN   CITT,   N.   T. 


!•••••••••• 

000130090    4 


STRATFORD  8.  GREEN 


